More than meets the eye
by loulouflowerpower
Summary: Amelia Wilson is a privet detective working for Scotland Yard, until she is forced to work with Sherlock Holmes against her wishes. How will she keep her secret of who her brother is from Sherlock? Will Amelia find love? Starts in 'A study in pink'.
1. Chapter 1 A study in pink part 1

"Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade!" the voices of the privet detective Amelia Wilson shouted as she stormed through Scotland Yard. People hurrying out of her way as she walked past, heels clicking as she reached Lestrade's office, she slammed the door behind her before hit her hands on his desk.

"You got my message then?" Lestrade said calmly.

"What do you think?" Amelia glared at him before turning her back on him and turning to the window, "I refuse. I have my own cases to work on, Lestrade! I don't have time to baby sit Sherlock flipping Homes! I haven't even met him!" she turned back to Lestrade, a look of realization on her face, "Hang on, Mycroft Homes did this, didn't he?"

"Yes," Lestrade admitted, leaning back on his chair, "I was against it if that helps".

"No, it doesn't," Amelia sighed as she sat down in front of Lestrade's desk, "I should never have said no to him about working on a case. He's doing this to get back at me".

"It won't be that bad," Lestrade said before shaking his head, "Okay, yes, it will be that bad but you might find that you enjoy it".

Amelia raised her eyebrows, "This is Sherlock Holmes were talking about. How am I supposed to keep who my brother is without Sherlock deducing it? And who's to say that he would even work with me?"

"You and Sherlock have a lot in common, Miss. Wilson," Lestrade shrugged, "Both privet detectives, both geniuses; you even have the same skills. Sherlock is just little bit more...annoying".

"Annoying?" Amelia repented, "I think the word annoying is to light from what I have heard about him. Look…" but she was cut off as Sergeant Donovan opened the door, sticking her head inside.

"Sir, there's been another one," Donovan said, sounding slightly breathless. Lestrade quickly stood, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair as Amelia did the same, "Same as the others. Suicide but this one left a note".

"How many times do I have to say that it's not suicide?" Amelia sighed as they walked at of the office, Donovan sent Amelia a cold look over her shoulder, "Oh please, even you can see it, Sergeant, but I suppose that spending a night with Anderson can lower your IQ quit a bit".

"I don't know what you're talking about, freak," Donovan snapped as she climbed into the front seat with Amelia. Lestrade would be going in another car.

"How long is his wife away?" Amelia asked as she watched the city outside the window, "I'm sure when she comes back she will be very grateful for you scrubbing her kitchen floor, judging be your knees. The two of you must be very close".

Donovan didn't answer but Amelia did notice that she gripped the wheel a little tighter than normal. Five minutes later, they arrived at the scene of the crime, police lights flashing and no sign of Lestrade. Amelia got out of the car, ignoring Anderson, walking into the house and up the staircase to find the body of a woman dressed in a pink coat and heels, lying face down on the floor.

Amelia knelt down beside the body. On the floor the letter's 'R.A.C.H.E' had been scratched into the floor by the woman with her left hand. 'R.A.C.H.E' was German for 'revenge' but it didn't look like that. It was more likely to be the name Rachel. Amelia took a pair of rubbing gloves from her pocket, running her hands over and under the coats collar. Damp but her umbrella dry. She then moved to the woman's wedding ring. Married 10 years plus but unhappily. Dirty but the inside clean. Serial adulterer it would seem.

Amelia was about to examine the back of the woman's legs when the door opened behind her and Lestrade walked in with a man. He had pale skin, dressed in a dark coat, scarf, black curly hair, someone who could only be Sherlock Holmes. Another man with short, slightly grey hair, blue eyes came walking with a limp with the aid of a cane behind him. A military doctor.

"Sherlock Holmes, Dr John Watson," Lestrade introduced as Amelia stood from the floor and walked over to them, "This is privet detective, Amelia Wilson. She's going to be working with you".

Sherlock didn't both to even glance at Amelia but John held out his hand, "John Watson," he smiled at her as she shook his hand.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" Amelia smiled as she shook his hand, "Don't answer that, Afghanistan. Military doctor resiliently returned from battle after you were shot. You have been having trouble sleeping. Nightmares I would say. No children, no wife or girlfriend either but you could be gay. But I can tell that you're not," she smirked slight at the look on his and Sherlock's face, "May I see your phone?"

John blinked at her a few times before passing his phone to her.

"You have a sister called Harriet but her nickname is Harry," Amelia said while she examined the phone, "She wants you to keep in touch with her but you disprove of her drinking. I could go on but I think I proved my point".

"Your point?" Lastrade asked.

"That I am just as skilled as Mr. Holmes," Amelia commented as Sherlock deuced her, "What can you tell about me?"

Sherlock looked at her a moment before speaking, "Your Irish but your accent is very light. You probably went to a boarding school when you were young somewhere in England and only returned to Ireland for the holidays. Judging by your clothing, you are wealthy. You have an older brother but you haven't seen him in some time. You spent two years living in America. You play the violin and the clarinet. Did I get anything wrong?"

"My brother is actually my twin," Amelia said, "I first went to boarding school when I was seven but it was in France. I only went to boarding school in England when I thirteen, after I was expelled because I was caught at a crime scene that I didn't commit. In actually fact, I was bored and tried to help the French police in a murder. And I spent one year and eleven mouths in America but had to leave after I had a hit put on me. I'm not really interested in being killed".

Sherlock looked as if he was trying to swallow a lemon much to the amusement of Lestrade and John.

"My turn," Amelia said in a sing-song voice, "Older brother Mycroft Holmes but you don't get along. You also play the violin but only when you're bored. You only just moved into a flat with John. You came from a wealthy family but like me do not care about money. Judging by your pale skin, you don't spend a lot of time outside unless you're working. You also grew up in the country but every summer you would travel and you didn't sleep last night. How did I do?"

"Better than I expected," Sherlock admitted reluctantly before turning his attention back to the body. They looked at the body for a while before Sherlock snapped at Lestrade, "Shut up".

"I didn't say anything!" Lestrade exclaimed.

"You were thinking," Sherlock said, "It's annoying".

John and Lestrade exchanged a look as Amelia rolled her eyes at Sherlock's back as he approached the body. After a moment he kneeled down and did the same thing that Amelia had with wiping his hand over the dead woman's coat and under the collar along with checking her pockets. He then examined her jewellery before smirking.

"Got anything?" Lestrade asked.

"Not much," Sherlock said while Amelia shook her head.

"She's Germen," Anderson suddenly poked his head around the door.

"Oh, shut up, Anderson," Amelia sighed turning around and moving closer to the door, "Go snog Donovan," she slammed the door on him before turning back around, catching Sherlock's amused face before he took his phone out.

"So, she's Germen?" Lestrade said.

"Of course she's not," Amelia sighed, "But she is from out of town".

"Planned to stay a single night in London before returning home," Sherlock continued as he searched for something on his phone, "So far, so obvious".

"Sorry, obvious?" John frowned.

"What about the message?" Lestrade asked.

"Dr. Watson, what do you think?" Sherlock asked, ignoring Lestrade.

"What do I think?" John frowned, looking confused, "About the message?"

"Of the body," Amelia corrected lightly, "You're the medical man".

"Oh, no, we have a whole medical team right outside," Lestrade shook his head.

"They won't work with me," Sherlock said.

"Same," Amelia added when John looked at her, "I'm not exactly popular".

"Look, I'm breaking every rule letting you in here," Lestrade sighed.

"Yeah, 'cause you need me," Sherlock pointed out.

"And I, Lestrade," Amelia said, "Don't forget that you did tell me to do this".

"Yes, I do, God help me," Lestrade sighed.

"Dr. Watson," Sherlock said.

John looked over to Lestrade, "Oh, do as he says, help yourself," he shrugged before opening the door and telling Anderson to not let anyone inside for a couple of minutes. John, Amelia, and Sherlock crouched down beside the body.

"Well?" Sherlock asked without giving John enough time to even look at the body.

"Sherlock, give him a minute," Amelia frowned, "This is his first time on a case. He's still getting used to it".

"What am I doing here?" John whispered, giving Amelia a grateful look.

"Helping me make a point," Sherlock whispered back.

"I'm supposed to be helping you pay the rent," John said.

"Yeah, this is more fun," Sherlock shrugged.

"Sherlock," Amelia shook her head, "I enjoy my job but I think your forgetting the dead woman lying in front of us. This isn't about fun and games it's about stoping this murderer before he kills again".

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her, "Father? Mother? Brother?"

"Sorry, what are you talking about?" Amelia frowned.

"Who was close to you that was murdered?"

"No one," Amelia blinked, "I just think that you should respect the dead".

"Dull," Sherlock scoffed, turning to John, "Well?"

John lent closer to the body to examine it as Lestrade returned. John sniffed the air before sitting back up right, "Asphyxiation, probably. She passed out and choked on her own vomit. I can't smell any alcohol on her, could be a seizure, possibly drugs".

"You know what it is," Sherlock said, "You've seen the papers".

"What, she was one of the suicides?" John glanced at Lestrade, "One of the four?"

"Sherlock, two minutes, I said two minutes," Lestrade said, "Give me anything you've got".

"The victim is in her early 30s, professional person," Sherlock said, "Going by her clothes; I'd guess something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. She's travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night, that's obvious from the size of her suitcase".

"A suitcase?" Lestrade frowned.

"A suitcase, yes," Sherlock said.

"Judging the ring on her finger, she's been married for several years but not happily," Amelia added, getting an approving look from Sherlock, "I'm guessing, she had multiple lovers, none of them knowing she was married".

"For God sake, if you're just making this up..." Lestrade began.

"Lestrade, when have I ever lied to you?" Amelia cut in.

"Last week," Lastrade said, "You told me that you were sick only for me to find out that you had taken I case I had told you not to".

"Wall, I was bored and it was that or me following you around and you know how much you love me doing that," Amelia shrugged before turning back to the body, "As I was saying, her wedding ring is about ten years old at least. The rest of her jewellery has been recently been cleaned, that tells you everything you need to know about the state of the marriage".

"The inside of her ring is shinier than the outside," Sherlock added, "That means it's regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It can't be for work, her nails are too long. She doesn't work with her hands, so what, or rather who does she remove her ring for? Clearly not one lover, she's never sustain the faction of being single over time. So more likely a string of them. Simple".

"Brilliant!" John said staring at Sherlock and Amelia, "Sorry," he shook his head as they looked at him.

"Cardiff?" Lastrade asked.

"Obvious, isn't it?" Sherlock looked around at John and Lastrade as Amelia nodded.

"It's not obvious to me," John said.

"Dear God, what's it like inside your funny little brains?" Sherlock shook his head, "It must be so boring. You can tell her coat is slightly damp, she's been in heavy rain in the last few hours, no rain anywhere in London in that time".

"Under her coat collar is damp, too," Amelia motioned on her own coat collar to it being turned up, "She's turned it up against the wind. There's an umbrella in her left pocket, but it's dry and unused".

"Not just wind, strong wind," Sherlock continued, "Too strong to use her umbrella. We know from the suitcase that she intended to stay at night, so she must have come a decent distance and she can't have travelled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn't dried".

"So, where has there been heavy rain and strong winds within the radius of that travel?" Amelia turned to Sherlock, "Mr. Holmes, if you would".

"Cardiff".

"Fantastic!" John smiled, shaking his head.

"Do you know you do that out loud?" Sherlock asked.

"Sorry, I'll shut up," John said.

"No, it's...it's fine," Sherlock said, putting his phone back in his pocket.

"Why do you keep saying suitcase?" Lestrade asked.

"Yes, where is it?" Sherlock asked, looking around the room, "She must have had a phone, or an organizer. Find out who Rachel is".

"She was writing Rachel?" Lestrade asked as Amelia sighed.

"No, she was writing an angry note in Germen," Amelia said, "Of course she was writing Rachel. No other word it could be".

"Question is, why did she wait til she was dying to writ it?" Sherlock frowned.

"How do you know she had a suitcase?" Lestrade asked.

"Back of her right leg, tiny splash marks above the heel and calf, not present on the left leg," Sherlock explained, "She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. You don't get splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, judging by the spread, case that size, woman this clothes-conscious, could only be an overnight bag. So we know she was staying a night. Now where is and what have you done with it?"

"Amelia?" Lestrade turned to her.

"There wasn't any suitcase when I arrived," Amelia frowned as Sherlock ran outside the door.

"Has anyone seen a suitcase?" Sherlock shouted as he started down the stairs, "Did anyone find a suitcase? Did anyone see a suitcase in this house?"

"Sherlock!" Lestrade called after him as they walked on to the landing, Sherlock was already half way down the stairs, "There was no case!"

"They take the pills themselves, chewed them and swallowed them," Sherlock called back, "There are clear signs that even you lot couldn't miss!"

"Right, yeah," Lestrade rolled his eyes as Amelia shook her head, "Thanks for that," he looked back down to Sherlock and shouted to him, "And?"

"Its murder, all of them but I don't know how," Sherlock said as Lestrade looked at Amelia, "There not suicides there killings. Serial Killen's. I love serial killers, always something to look forward to".

"Why you saying that?" Lestrade asked.

"Come on!" Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Where is her case, did she eat it? Someone else was here and they took her case".

"So, the killer must have driven her here," Amelia called down to Sherlock making him stop and look back up, "And forgot that her case was in the car".

"Maybe she checked into a hotel, left her case there?" John suggested.

"She never made it so a hotel," Amelia shook her head, "Look at her hair. She colour co-ordinates her lipstick and her shoes. A woman like her would never leave the hotel with her hair still looking like…" but she was cut off by Sherlock.

"Oh!" Sherlock smiled, "Oh!"

"Sherlock?" John frowned at his sudden change.

"What is it?" Lestrade asked, "What?"

"Serial killers are always hard," Sherlock smiled, "You have to wait for them to make a mistake".

"We can't wait!" Lestrade shouted.

"Oh, we're done waiting," Sherlock shouted back, "Look at her, really look! Houston, we have a mistake! Get on to Cardiff, find out who Jennifer Wilson family and friends were. Find Rachel!"

"Of course, yeah," Lestrade said, "But what mistake?"

"PINK!" Sherlock shouted before running out of sight.

"And you still want me to work with him, Lestrade," Amelia shook her head.

"Yes," Lestrade said before walking off with Anderson, leaving John and Amelia alone.

"Shouldn't we be going after Sherlock?" John asked.

"He would have already left by now," Amelia sighed, "Come on, let's get out of here. Oh, that reminds me, where are you living now? I could find out but I'm not really in the mood to be going all over London and seeing as I will be working with the two of you for a while, I'm going to need to know what street to go to".

"Baker Street, 221B," John said as they made it slowly down the stairs. When they walked outside just like Amelia had said, Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. John and Amelia started walking over to the police tap when Donavan stopped them.

"He's gone," She told them as seeing John trying to look for Sherlock even though Amelia had told him that he was gone.

"Sherlock Holmes?" John asked.

"I did tell you," Amelia said as Donovan glared at her before turning back to John.

"He just took off," Donovan shrugged, "He does that".

"Is he coming back?" John frowned.

"Didn't look like it".

"Right," John said as Donovan said something to the police officer standing next her, "Right," he muttered before turning back to Donovan, "Yes, sorry where am I?"

"Brixton," Amelia answered taking her blackberry out of her handbag and sighing, "I would get us a cab but my phone just died".

"Do you know where we could get a cab?" John asked Donovan as Amelia slipped her useless phone away, "It just...are...well, my leg..."

Donovan sighed and lifted the police tap up for John and Amelia, "Try the main road".

"Thanks," John said as they walked under the tap.

"But you're not his friend," Donovan told him before looking at Amelia, "Or hers. They don't have friends," Amelia raised her eyebrows as they turned back around to look at Donovan, "So who are you?"

"I'm...I'm...nobody," John shook his head, "I just meet them".

"And for the record Donovan," Amelia cut in, "You know nothing about me. Sherlock and I may seem alike but we are nothing like each other. Sherlock look's at a body and sees the thrill of the chase. I see a body and I see the sadness for their family and friends. I am not Sherlock Holmes no matter how my skills make me seem like him".

"It's sad how you actually believe that," Donovan said before turning to John, "If you take my advice, stay away from them both".

"Why?" John asked as Amelia rolled her eyes.

"You know why there here?" Donovan said as she gestured to Amelia who pretend to look behind her, "There not payed or anything. They like it. They get off on it. The weirder the crime, the more they get off. And you know what? One day just showing up won't be enough. One day we'll be standing around a body and Sherlock Holmes put it there".

"What about me?" Amelia cut in, "I would have thought that I would also murder someone in your little world".

"As much as it pains me to agree with you," Donovan sighed, "You are right. You have too much remorse to kill someone unless you were forced to".

"Why would Sherlock do that?" John frowned.

"Because he's a psychopath," Donovan shrugged, "Psychopaths get bored".

"Donovan!" Lestrade suddenly shouted before Amelia could correct her on calling Sherlock a psychopath.

"Coming!" Donovan shouted as she started walking back towards the house only to look over her shoulder, "Stay away from Sherlock Holmes".

John shook his head as Amelia rolled her eyes, "Let's get out of here," Amelia said as they started walking down the street only to hear a phone inside a phone box ringing.

John frowned at it while Amelia narrowed her eyes, already having a good idea of who would be on the over end.

"Probably just kids playing a prank," Amelia lied smoothly, "Come on, my legs are freezing".

_**I got this story idea and couldn't work on my other stories until I wrote this. I might continue if anyone asks me to. I'm also not sure if this should be a Sherlock/OC or Mycroft/OC so if anyone would like to give me there input on that. I hope I didn't make Amelia seem like a female copy of Sherlock because she is like him but at the same time very different. If anyone is interested in what Amelia's outfit is then there is a link on my profile. I hope you liked it, please review :)**_


	2. Chapter 2 A study in pink part 2

"Taxi!" John called as they walked down the main street but the taxi drove past. Inside a takeaway shop the phone started ringing but as soon as a man picked it up, it stopped.

"That was...odd," John commented to Amelia.

"Not really," Amelia shrugged, acting as if she didn't know what was happening, "Someone probably wanted to order something and gave up when no one answered. Happens all the time, John".

"Yeah, but don't you think it's a little strange?" John asked as they started walking again, "I mean there was that phone box ringing earlier".

Amelia was about to answer when a phone box right next to them started ringing. John stopped and looked at Amelia who sighed and nodded, "I think it's for you. He's not going to give up anytime soon".

"Who?" John asked as he opened the door, "Sherlock? I don't think even he could do something like this".

"Not Sherlock, no," Amelia said as John picked the receiver up, "But very close".

"Hello?"

"There is a security camera on the building to your left," the voices of a man said, "Do you see it?"

John glanced at Amelia before speaking into the phone, "Who's this? Who's specking?"

"Do you see the camera, Dr. Watson?"

John glanced at Amelia who pointed to a camera on a building, "Yeah I see it," John said as they looked the camera.

"Watch," the voices told them as the camera moved, "There is another camera on the building opposite you, do you see it?"

"Hmm," John hummed as they looked at the camera as it also turned away.

"And finely at the top of the building on your right".

The camera did the same as the other three, "How are you doing this?" John asked, glancing at Amelia who shook her head.

"Get into the car, Dr. Watson, Miss. Wilson," the voices told them as a black car pulled up just outside, "I would make some sort of threat but I'm sure your situation is quite clear to you," and with that the phone went dead.

"What was that?" John frowned as he put the receiver back only find that Amelia was already climbing into the back of the car, "Thanks for explaining things," he muttered as he followed her into the car, closing the door behind him.

Amelia was sitting next to a beautiful, young woman, texting on her own Blackberry as the car took off.

"Hello," John said to her.

"Hi," the woman smiled at him before going back to texting.

"What's your name then?" John asked.

"Ar...Anthea," the woman said without looking up.

"Last time it was Alice," Amelia commented as she stared straight ahead, "Don't bother trying to get anything personally at of her. She was trained to lie".

John didn't say anything for a moment, "I'm John".

"Yes, I know," 'Anthea' smiled down at her phone.

"Any point in asking where we're going?" John asked.

"None at all," 'Anthea' shook her head before adding, "John".

"Ok".

...

When the car pulled up and John and Amelia stepped out to find themselves inside a huge, damp, warehouse. A chair sat in the middle with a man holding an umbrella and dressed in an expensive three pieces suit or as Amelia knew him, Mycroft Holmes.

"Have a seat, John," Mycroft point with his umbrella at the chair before looking at Amelia, "Lovely to see you again, Detective Wilson".

"I wish I could say the same," Amelia said as they walked towards to Mycroft, "Trouble sleeping? I always find that tea helps".

"I will keep that in mind," Mycroft inclined his head at her.

"You know, I've got a phone," John said, "I mean, very clever and all that. But, ah, you could just phone me. On my phone".

"When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes one learns to be discreet," Mycroft answered, "Hence this place. Your leg must be hurting you. Sit down".

"I don't want to sit down," John said quickly.

"You don't seem very afraid," Mycroft commented.

"You don't seem very frightening," John said.

"Yes," Mycroft smiled slightly, giving a small chuckle, "The bravery of the soldier. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think?"

"Takes one to know one," Amelia cut in, "Except for the soldier part".

Mycroft and Amelia looked at each other for a moment before Mycroft turn back to John, "What is you connection to Sherlock Holmes, Dr. Watson?"

"I don't have one," John answered, "I barely know him. I met him...yesterday and Amelia today".

"Hmm," Mycroft nodded, "And since yesterday you've moved in with him and now you're solving crimes together. Are we to expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?" he looked over to Amelia, taking a set of keys from his pocket, "Which reminds me Miss. Wilson, these are for you".

He tossed them at her as she caught them, "House keys. Freshly cut too. You do realise that I already own a house? A very nice one at that".

"If you are to be working alongside Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson than you are going to need to live nearby," Mycroft said, "I made sure that your furniture was copied and delivered this morning. No need to thank me".

"You are un-believable," Amelia shook her head, "Do you realise how creepy that is that you know what my furniture looks like? How do you even know what my furniture looks like? You've never been inside my house".

"I have my ways, Miss. Wilson," Mycroft smiled.

"Who are you?" John frowned.

"An interested party".

"Interested in Sherlock, why?" John said, "I'm guess you're not friends".

"You've met him," Mycroft said, "How many friends do you imagine he has? I am the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock Holmes is capable of having".

"And what's that?" John asked.

"An enemy".

"An enemy?" John questioned.

"In his mind, certainly," Mycroft nodded, "If you were to ask him, he'd probably say his archenemy. He does love to be dramatic".

"Well, thank God you're above all that," John remarked making Amelia cover her smile. John's phone beeped and he checked it, _'Baker Street. Come at once if convenient. Bring Amelia. SH,' _Amelia read without John noticing.

"I hope I'm not distracting you," Mycroft commented.

"You're not distracting me at all," John said, putting his phone away and looked back up.

"Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?" Mycroft asked John.

"I could be wrong, but I think that's none of your business".

"It could be".

"It really couldn't," John shook his head.

"If you do decide to move into..." Mycroft pulled out a small address book from his pocket, "221B Baker Street, I would be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular base's to eases your way".

"Why?" John frowned.

"Because you're not a wealthy man".

"In exchange for what?" John asked.

"Information," Amelia explained, "He tried this on me five years ago. Tried to make me work with Sherlock but un-expecting events got in the way. I of course refused to hand over any information. I already have too much money".

"It wouldn't be anything that would make you feel...un-comfortable," Mycroft said, "Just tell me what he's up to".

"Why?" John asked.

"I worry about him," Mycroft admitted, "Constantly".

"That's nice of you," John nodded.

"It would be if he didn't take it to the extreme," Amelia commented.

"Now, now, Miss. Wilson," Mycroft shook his head at her before turning back to John, "But I would prefer for varies reasons that my concern go un-mentored we have what you might call a difficult relationship".

John's phone beeped once more and he took it back out, _'If inconvenient, come anyway. SH'._

"No," John said.

"I haven't mentioned a figure".

"Don't bother," John shook his head.

Mycroft chuckled, "You're very loyal, very quickly. A trait you share with Miss. Wilson".

"I'll take that as a complement," Amelia joked.

"No I'm not," John said, "I'm just not interested".

"'Trust issues'," Mycroft stated as he took the address book back out, "It says here".

"What's that?" John swallowed already knowing what it was.

"Don't do this," Amelia frowned at Mycroft, "Don't use your power to make people do what you want".

"Could it be you've decided to trust Sherlock Holmes of all people?" Mycroft asked, not listening to Amelia.

"Who says I trust him?" John asked.

"You don't seem the kind to make friends easily," Mycroft said.

"And you make friends _so_ much better," Amelia rolled her eyes, "And I'm not talking about people at the clubs you spend half your weekends at. Proper friends who you can talk to, people you care about," she shook her head, "But I forget that you thought that caring was a disadvantage".

"Are we done?" John asked.

"You tell me," Mycroft said with a slight edge.

John looked at Mycroft a minute before turning and started walking back to the still waiting car. Amelia shook her head at Mycroft before following after John only to stop and turn around when Mycroft started specking again.

"I imagine people have already warned you to stay away from him but I can see from your left hand that's not going to happen," Mycroft called to them.

"My what?" John turned back around.

"Show me".

"Do it, John," Amelia sighed, "He wants to check something".

John glanced at her before holding his left hand up. Mycroft walked forward, placing his umbrella on the crock of his arm and reaching to touch John's hand.

"Don't..." John pulled his hand away before Mycroft had even touched him.

Mycroft put his head to the side and raised his eyebrows a little like a puppy would. John eyed him before slowly holding out his hand again, letting Mycroft examine it.

"Remarkable," Mycroft commented as John pulled his hand back.

"What is?" John asked.

"Most people blunder around this city and all they see are streets and shops and cars," Mycroft explained, turning away from John and Amelia, "When you walk with Sherlock Holmes you see the battlefield. You've see it already, haven't you?"

"What's wrong with my hand?" John asked as Mycroft turned back around.

"You have an intermittent tremor in your left hand," Amelia said before Mycroft, "I noticed when I shook your hand earlier".

"Very good, Miss. Wilson," Mycroft nodded before looking back at John, "Your therapist thinks its posttraumatic stress disorder. She thinks you're haunted by memories of your military service".

"Who the hell are you?" John demanded before say a little calmer, "How do you know that?"

"Fire her," Mycroft said, ignoring John's questions, "She's got it around the wrong way. You're under stress right now and your hand is perfectly steady. You're not haunted by the war, Dr. Watson. You miss it," he leaned forward slightly and whispered, "Welcome back," before he started walking off, umbrella swinging just as John's phone beeped once more, "Time to choose a side, Dr. Watson. Goodbye, Miss. Wilson, do take care of Sherlock Holmes for me".

John stared after him before looking at Amelia who rolled her eyes at Mycroft's dramatics. From behind them they could hear the sound of heels clicking, looking behind them they saw 'Anthea' standing there.

"I'm to take you home," she told them without looking up from her phone. John glanced at her, taking his own phone out and showing Amelia the message from Sherlock: _'Could be dangerous. SH'_.

"It wouldn't be fun otherwise," Amelia smiled as John put his phone away and looked down at his left hand. Not even a tremble.

"Address?" 'Anthea' asked.

"Baker Street," John said, walking over to the car followed by Amelia, "221B, Baker Street but I need to stop off somewhere first".

...

After they stopped off for John they drove to Baker Street and pulled up just outside 221B. 'Anthea' had been glued to her phone the whole time making the ride silent other then the tapping of the keys.

"Listen, your boss," John said to 'Anthea,' "Any chance you could not tell him this is where we went?"

'Anthea' looked up from her phone, "Sure".

"Don't bother, John," Amelia said, "She's already told him".

John sighed and opened the door before looking back at 'Anthea,' "Hey, um, do you ever get any free time?"

"Really," Amelia raised her eyebrows looking amused.

"Oh, yeah," 'Anthea' smiled down at her phone, "Lots," John waited for a moment until 'Anthea looked at him, "Bye".

"Okay," John muttered, quickly climbing out of the car with Amelia trying not to smile as she followed him. They watched as the car drove away before John knocked on 221B, "Haven't got the keys yet," he explained as a woman in her sixties opened the door.

"He's up stairs," the woman said to John as they stepped inside before looking at Amelia, "I'm Mrs. Hudson, the Land Lady".

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Hudson," Amelia smiled at her, "I'm Amelia Wilson; I will be working with Sherlock and John for a while, I hope you hips not giving you too much trouble tonight?"

"She's like Sherlock," John explained at seeing Mrs. Hudson's surprised face, "She told half of mine and Sherlock's life story when we met".

"It's alright," Mrs. Hudson smiled, giving her hip a pat, "I have herbal soothers".

Amelia smiled at her before following after John up the stairs and into a medium size room where Sherlock was lying on the sofa with one of his arms in the air.

"What are you doing?" John frowned, stepping into the room.

"How many nicotine patches do you need at once?" Amelia asked as she wondered around the room, taking everything in.

"Helps me think," Sherlock replied, "Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Bad news for brainwork".

"Good news for breathing," John said as Amelia noticed a violin case.

"Ah, breathing," Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Breathing's boring".

"I'm sure some people would disagree," Amelia commented as she popped the case open and peeked inside to find a beautiful violin.

"Is that three patches?" John asked.

"It's a three patch problem," Sherlock said as he put his hands together under his chin.

Suddenly the silence was cut by the sound of Amelia playing Sherlock's precise violin, one of Beethoven's works. Both John and Sherlock stared at her completely stunned before Sherlock managed to shack himself out of his shock, "Put it back!"

Amelia rolled her eyes at him and contoured playing until she finished, giving a bowel and putting the violin back in its case, "Didn't you mother teach you to share, Sherlock? You can borrow my clarinet if you want...just as long as you wash it after you use it...and tell me about it so that I can give it a proper clean because I know what your idea of clean is".

"No one touches my violin," Sherlock snapped, putting his hands under his chin again and closed his eyes, "And what use would I have with a clarinet?"

"You might get sick of the violin and decide that you need something else," Amelia shrugged, not in the less bit upset, "And would you have stopped playing just because someone told you to stop? I highly doubt it".

Sherlock didn't answers making Amelia smirk slightly.

"Well?" John asked after a moment of silence but Sherlock remained the same, "You asked us to come so I'm assuming it's important".

"Oh, yeah, can I borrow your phone?" Sherlock asked, snapping his eyes open.

"My Phone?" John said.

"Don't want to use mine, always a chance the number will be recognized," Sherlock answered, "It's on the website".

"I didn't even realize that you had a website," Amelia commented, "But I never had to look you up. If I really wanted to know something I could have asked Lastrade".

"Mrs. Hudson's got a phone," John said.

"Yeah, but she's downstairs," Sherlock gave a small shrug, "I tried shouting, but she didn't hear".

"We were on the other side of London!" John snapped.

"There was no hurry," Sherlock said.

John looked as if he was fighting down the urge to punch him before handing his phone over, "So, what's this about? The case?"

"Her case," Sherlock corrected.

"Her case?" John asked, glancing over to Amelia who was sitting in one of the chairs.

"Her suitcase, yes, obviously," Sherlock explained, "The murderer took her suitcase. First big mistake".

"Okay, so the murderer took her case," John shrugged, "So?"

"So, there's no other way, we'll have to risk it," Sherlock muttered, "On my desk there's a number, I want you to send a text".

Sherlock held John's phone back out, "You brought us here to send a text?" John asked, not moving.

"Text yes," Sherlock said, "The number on my desk".

"He won't give up, John," Amelia said, "Just go along with him...for now anyway".

John sighed and took the phone before going over to the window and looking outside.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock asked.

"We just met a friend of yours," John said.

"A friend?" Sherlock repented looking confused.

"Or an enemy," Amelia said.

"Oh, which one?" Sherlock asked.

"Your archenemy, according to him," John said, "Do people have archenemies?"

"You would be surprised," Amelia smiled.

"Did he offer you money to spy on me?"

"Yes," John admitted.

"Did either of you take it?" Sherlock asked.

"No," John said.

"I don't take money from people in old warehouses," Amelia smiled, "Plus I don't like blackmail".

"Pity, we could have split the fee," Sherlock said, "Think it through next time".

"Or you could ask me," Amelia shrugged, "I would be happy to give either of you some money. I don't need it".

"Who is he?" John asked Sherlock before looking at Amelia, "Amelia, you said something about meeting him five years ago".

"The most dangerous man you've ever met and not my problem right now," Sherlock said, "On my desks. The number".

John glanced at Amelia who shrugged before doing as he was told, "Jennifer Wilson," he read, frowning, "That was...hang on, wasn't that the dead woman?"

"Yes, that's not important just enter the number," Sherlock told him as John started typing the number in, "You doing it?"

"Yes," John said as he typed.

"Have you done it?"

"Give him a seconded, Sherlock," Amelia shook her head.

"These words exactly: 'what happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out. 22 Northumberland Street, please come'".

"You blacked out?" John frowned.

"Yes...no, no!" Sherlock said standing on top of the coffee table before walking into the next room, "Type and send it," he walked back into the room carrying the once missing pink suitcase, "Have you sent it?"

"What's the address?" John asked as Sherlock pulled a chair out for under his desk and put the suitcase on top of it.

"22 Northumberland Street," Amelia said as Sherlock un-zipped the case.

"Hurry up," Sherlock added as he looked at the context of the case. Amelia got up from her seat and also looked.

"That's..." John finished texting and looked at the case, "That's...the pink lady's case. That's Jennifer Wilson's".

"Yes," Sherlock said still looking at the case, "Obviously," but John was still frowning, "Oh, perhaps I should mention, I didn't kill her".

"I never said you did," John argued.

"Why not?" Sherlock said, "Given the text I just had you send and the fact that I have her case it's a perfectly logical assumption".

"Do people usually assume you're the murderer?" John asked.

"Now and then, yes," Sherlock said as John turned to Amelia.

"And you?" he asked.

"Didn't you hear the reason for being expelled at age thirteen?" Amelia shrugged, "If you do the job that Sherlock and I do, it will happen at some point".

"Okay," John nodded as he hobbled over to the chair that Amelia had been sitting in, "How did you get this?"

"By looking," Sherlock explained.

"Where?" John asked.

"The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens," Amelia frowned, "He could only have kept the case by accident if it was in the car," she paused but contoured at the approving look Sherlock was giving her, "Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention to themself, particle a man which is statically more likely".

"Finely someone who has a brain and can use it," Sherlock seemed to smile for a moment before he started explaining, "Obviously he felt compelled to get rid of it the moment he realised he still had it. Wouldn't have taken more than five minutes to have realised his mistake. I checked every back street wide enough for a car within five minutes of Lauriston Gardens and anywhere you could easily dispose of a bulky object without being observed. It took me less than an hour to find the right skip".

"Pink," John shook his head, "You got all of that because you realised the case would be pink? Both of you?"

"It's my job," Amelia shrugged.

"Well, it had to be pink, obviously," Sherlock said.

"Why didn't I think of that?" John asked himself.

"Because you're an idiot," Sherlock said but back tracked slightly at the look on John's face, "No, no, no, don't be like that. Practically everyone is".

"Nice save," Amelia rolled her eyes.

"Now look, do you see what's missing from this case?" Sherlock asked, ignoring Amelia.

"From the case?" John shook his head, "How could I?"

"He mean's her phone," Amelia corrected lightly, "Where's her mobile phone? There was no phone on the body, there's no phone in the case but we know that she had one that's her number that you just texted".

"Maybe she left it at home?" John suggested.

"She has string of lovers and she's carful about it," Sherlock shook his head, "She never leaves her phone at home".

"Why did I just send that text?" John frowned.

"Well, the question is where is her phone now?" Amelia said.

"She could have lost it," John shrugged.

"Yes or..." Sherlock trailed off for John to finish.

"The murderer?" John asked, "The murderer has the phone?"

"Maybe she left it when he took her case?" Sherlock shrugged, "Maybe he took it from her for some reason either way balance of probability is that the murder has her phone".

"Sorry, what are we doing?" John shook his head, "Did I just text the murder? What good will that do?"

Suddenly John's phone started ringing making John, Amelia, and Sherlock look at the armrest it was sitting on beside John, "Few hours since his last victim," Sherlock said as John looked at the screen of his still ringing phone, "Until now he receives a text, which can only be for her. Had a passerby found the phone they would ignore a text like that but the murderer...would panic," he flipped the suitcases lied closed and jumped out of his chair, grabbing his suit jacket from his desk.

"Have you talked to the police?" John asked.

"Four people are dead," Amelia remained him as she put her coat on.

"There isn't time to talk to the police," Sherlock added.

"So why are you talking to us?" John asked.

"Mrs. Hudson took my skull," Sherlock said it as if it was obvious as he took his coat from behind the door and put it on.

"Oh no!" Amelia gasped dramatically, "The worlds going to end because Mrs. Hudson took you skull".

"So, where basically filling in for your skull?" John raised his eyebrows.

"Relax," Sherlock said, "You're both doing fine. Well?"

"Well what?" John asked as Amelia took a pair of flats from her handbag and swopped them over with her heels.

"Well, you could just sit there and watch telly," Sherlock shrugged.

"What, you want me to come with you?" John asked surprised.

"I like company when I go out and I think better when I talk aloud," Sherlock admitted as he put his gloves on, "The skull just attracts attention".

"I wonder why?" Amelia commented.

"But you have Amelia," John said.

"Excess me, Dr. Watson," Amelia raised her voices slightly, "I am not an object and Sherlock Holmes most certainly does not have me. This is my case just as much as is yours," she paused for a moment, "If I had it my way I would be not be here".

"Wonderful speech, Amelia," Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Now are you coming or not, John?"

"Sergeant Donovan," John said.

"What about her?" Sherlock and Amelia both rolled their eyes.

"She said you got off on this, you enjoy it," John answered.

"And I said 'danger' and here you are," Sherlock said before walking out of the room and down the hall.

"He has a point," Amelia shrugged before following after Sherlock, from behind her she heard John mutter, 'damn it,' before following after them, "I knew you would come, John," Amelia said over her shoulder.

_**The violin scene is credited to: DarkEagleOfTheWind who asked me to write something to do with Sherlock's violin, so thanks again for the idea. Also the un-expecting event's that Amelia mentored was around the time Sherlock got into drugs and had to go into rehab. Thank you to everyone who reviewed last chapter, I really didn't think that anyone would. I'm hoping to have the next chapter up soon, tell me what you thought :)**_


	3. Chapter 3 A study in pink part 3

"Where are we going?" John asked as they crossed the road outside Baker Street, following after Sherlock to where ever he was taking them.

"Northumberland Terrace is a five-minute walk from here," Sherlock said.

"What, you think he's stupid enough to go there?" John asked.

"No, I think he's brilliant enough," Sherlock seemed almost excited about the idea to Amelia, "I love the brilliant ones. They're so desperate to get caught".

"Why?" John frowned.

"Appreciation," Amelia answered, "At long last, the spotlight, a chance to show off. That's the thing about genius, John. It's needs an audience".

"Yeah," John said.

"This is his hunting ground," Sherlock said, ignoring John's remark and looking around the street as they walked, "Right here in the heart of the city. Now that we know that his victims were abducted, that changes everything because all of his victims disappeared from crowed streets, busy places, but no one saw them go," he raised his voices slightly, "Think! Who do we trust even though we don't know them, who hunt's in the middle of a crowd and can go unnoticed in London?"

"I don't know," John shook his head as Amelia shrugged, "Who?"

"Haven't the faintest," Sherlock shrugged, "Hungry?" he turned and lead them to a small restaurant, sitting at a table by the winding, gesturing outside as he took his gloves off, "22 Northumberland Street. Keep your eyes on it".

"He's hardly going to ring the doorbell, Sherlock," Amelia shook her head as she sat down beside John.

"He would have to be mad," John added.

"He has killed four people," Sherlock pointed out before glancing at Amelia, "I would have thought someone of your intelligence and skill would have been able to work out what I mean".

Amelia blinked at him as a waiter handed them each a menu, "Hang on...did you just...complement me, Sherlock Holmes?"

Before Sherlock could answer, a large man walked over to their table, "Sherlock!" he shook Sherlock's hand, "Anything on the menu, anything you want free of charge," he glanced at Amelia and John, "On the house for you and your...date's".

"Do you want to eat?" Sherlock asked them, seeming not to notices the looks on there faces.

"Were not his dates," Amelia quickly said as John nodded, "In any shape of forme".

"This man got me off a murder charge," the man gestured towards Sherlock.

"This is Angelo," Sherlock introduces, "Three years ago I successfully proved to Inspector Lestrade that at the time of a particularly vicious triple murder, Angelo was in a completely different part of town, house braking".

"He cleared my name," Angelo said.

"I cleared it a bit".

"I remember that report," Amelia nodded.

"Anything happening opposite?" Sherlock asked, gesturing to Northumberland Street.

"Nothing," Angelo shook his head, turning back to Amelia and John, "But for this man, I would have gone to prison".

"You did go to prison," Sherlock corrected.

"I'll get you a candle for the table," Angelo said to Amelia and John, "It's more romantic, hmm?"

"Were not his dates," John called after him as he walked off.

"I give up," Amelia sighed, nudging John, "Try to see the funny side of this John, not much else you can do".

"You may as well eat," Sherlock said, pushing his menu away, "We might be waiting a while".

"Not hungry," Amelia said as she pushed her menu away just as Angelo returned with a small candle, "I'll eat later if I'm hungry".

"Suit yourself," Sherlock shrugged as he continued to stare outside.

...

"People don't have arch enemies," John said after a while as he chewed on his food.

"I'm sorry?" Sherlock frowned at him.

"In real life," John said, "There are no arch-enemies in real life. It doesn't happen".

"Like I said," Amelia said, "You would be surprised, John".

"Sounds a bit dull," Sherlock sniffed.

"So, who did we meet?" John asked, glancing at Amelia, "I know that you know but..."

"What do real people have, then, in their real lives?" Sherlock cut in before Amelia could answer.

"Friends," John said as Amelia gave him a knowing look over her glass of water, "People they know, people they like, people they don't like. Girlfriends, boyfriends".

"Like I said, dull," Sherlock shrugged.

"You don't have a girlfriend?" John asked.

"Girlfriend, no," Sherlock shook his head, "Not really my area".

John glanced at Amelia who tried not to smile already know what John was probably thinking, "Oh, right," John said, "Do you have a boyfriend? Which is fine, by the way".

"I know its fine".

"So you've got a boyfriend?" John asked as Amelia shook her head at John but he didn't notices.

"No," Sherlock said.

"Right, okay," John nodded, "You're unattached. Like me. Fine. Good".

Sherlock glanced at Amelia who sighed and shook her head before looking back to John, "John, I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work and while..."

"Same," Amelia interrupted making John and Sherlock look at her, "I'm not very good at boyfriends. They always end up annoying me somehow, whether it's because they don't like how much I spend at work or something else".

"Not to mention the fact that your first boyfriend cheated on you when you were seventeen," Sherlock said, going back to staring outside the window.

"That to," Amelia said after a moment; frowning slightly, "What else have you worked out about my past, Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock glanced back at her, "That your mother died of a tragic accident when you were young. Father died when you were in you early twenties".

"What else?" Amelia asked but Sherlock didn't say anything, "Your right. My mother died when I was fourteen. Riding an accident. I saw it happen," John patted her on her shoulder, "As for my father, he died of a heart-attack when I was nineteen leaving me everything".

"What about your twin?" John frowned.

"He never got along with father," Amelia sighed, "When mother died it was as if any hope of them becoming more father son was lost. I tried to talk to them but a thing about our family is that we can be extremely stubborn when we want to be. Father disinherited my brother and I got everything. I offered my brother fifty percent of everything but the only thing he wanted was the family estate".

Sherlock looked at her for a moment before turning back to the street, "Taxi, across the street," he nodded outside the window, "No one getting in, no one getting out. Why a taxi? Oh, that's clever. Is it clever? Why is it clever?"

"That's him?" John asked as he and Amelia turned and looked outside.

"Or is it someone else?" Amelia muttered to herself.

"Don't stare," Sherlock told them.

"Yes father," Amelia rolled her eyes, completely ignoring Sherlock.

"You told us to look," John frowned.

"We can't all stare," Sherlock said as he walked out, grabbing his coat as he did. John and Amelia exchanged looks before following.

"Something tells me this happens often," John remarked to Amelia, not noticing that he had left his cane behind as they stepped next to Sherlock as he watched the cab.

Amelia glanced at his leg before grinning, "You could say that, Dr. Watson".

Suddenly Sherlock slid over the bonnet of a car that stopped and beeped, the driver yelling at him but Sherlock ignored him still chasing after the now moving cab. Amelia shook her head and chased after Sherlock with John following behind, apologising to everyone they past.

They ran into a side alley, up a flight of stairs and along a roof.

"Come one, John!" Sherlock shouted behind him as they ran, "Amelia!"

Down another set of stairs, jumping over a railing and onto a different building's roof. Up ahead, Sherlock jumped over a gap between two buildings just before Amelia and John reached it, both, coming to a skidding stop, looking down and edging away slightly.

"Come on!" Sherlock shouted from the other side, "We're losing him!"

Amelia glanced at John, noticing his slightly pale face in the dark, "Don't like height's either?"

"Not really, no," John shook his head, "But I'm ready when you are".

Amelia smiled at him, "On the count of three. One...two...three!"

Quickly jumping over, landing on the damp roof a little heavier than expected before chasing after Sherlock who was racing down a metal fire escape, coming out of another alleyway.

"This way!" Sherlock shouted as John ran to the left, Amelia and Sherlock running to the right, "No this way!"

"Sorry!" Amelia heard John say to someone as he ran after them and down a street, pedestrians moving out of the way, some not fast enough and being hit just before they ran down another alley and onto the street. Sherlock skidded and ran in front of the taxi shouting, "Police! Open up!" before opening the back door where a man was sitting looking at them puzzled.

"I really should do that more often," Amelia panted to John who nodded, trying to get his breath back, "But next time I think I'll do it at a gym and not down the main streets of London".

"No," Sherlock panted slightly as he looked closely at the man, "Teeth, tan..."

"Californian," Amelia said as she glanced at the man's suitcase, "LA I would say. Possibly Santa Monica. Just arrived".

"How can you possibly know that?" John questioned, looking in-between Sherlock and Amelia.

"The luggage," Sherlock sighed as if it was the most obvious thing in the world before turning back to the man, "Probably your first trip to London, right? Going by your final destination, the route the cabbie was taking you".

"Sorry, are you guys the police?" the man frowned at them.

"Yeah," Sherlock nodded, flashing a badge quickly, "Everything all right?"

"Yeah," the man nodded still looking a little puzzled.

"Welcome to London," Sherlock said before walking away from the cab.

"Ah, any problems just...let us know," John stepped forward, closing the door as the cab drove off, leaving Amelia, Sherlock, and John standing on the side of the road, panting and still out of breath.

"Well, he has something interesting to tell his collages when he gets home," Amelia remarked.

"Basically just a cab that happened to slow down," John said.

"Basically," Sherlock nodded.

"Not the murdered then," John stated.

"Not the murder, no," Sherlock agreed and Amelia tried not to smile at the look on his face.

"Wrong country, good alibi," John said.

"As they come," Sherlock nodded.

"I've heard better," Amelia commented, "One was being in the middle of child birth. I hardly think that she could have killed her boss let along go anywhere".

"Where...where did you get this?" John asked, taking the badge from Sherlock and reading it, "Detective Inspector Lastrade".

"Yeah," Sherlock said, "I pickpocket him when he's annoying. You can keep that one, I have plenty back at the flat".

John started laughing and Amelia took one look at Sherlock's confused face and joined in, "What?" Sherlock asked, looking in-between them.

"I'm laughing because of your face," Amelia laughed, "You just looked so...confused".

"Nothing," John shook his head as he continued to laugh, "Just...welcome to London".

They looked at each other before all three of them started laughing for a moment until Sherlock glanced over to see the man from the cab talking with a policeman and pointing at them.

"Got your breath back, John?" Amelia asked as they looked over to see what Sherlock was looking at.

"Ready when you are," John said before they ran off together.

_**Sorry about the wait and how short this chapter is but the means that the next chapter's going to be longer. I hope you liked it, please review :)**_


	4. Chapter 4 A study in pink part 4

"That was ridiculous," John panted as he, Sherlock, and Amelia leaned against the wall in the hallway of Baker Street after running the entire way back, "That was the most ridiculous thing I have ever done".

"And you invaded Afghanistan," Sherlock joked, coursing all three of them to erupted into breathless giggles.

"That wasn't just me," John said breathlessly, "Why aren't we back at the restaurant?"

"They can keep an eye out," Sherlock waved it off as Amelia tried to get her breath back; "It was a long shot anyway".

"So, what were we doing there?" John frowned.

"Oh, just passing the time," Sherlock cleared his throat, avoiding looking at Amelia's knowing smile, "And proving a point".

"What point?" John asked, glancing at Amelia who shrugged but continued to smile.

"Don't look at me, John," Amelia said, "I haven't the foggiest".

"You," Sherlock said, making John look at him before raising his voices, "Mrs Hudson! Dr. Watson will take the room upstairs!"

"Says who?" John asked.

"Says the man at the door," Amelia smiled, gesturing to the front door just as there was a knock on it.

John blinked at her, glancing at Sherlock before going to the door and answering it, "Sherlock texted me," Angelo's voices carried back to Amelia and Sherlock, "He said you forgot this".

John glanced over his shoulder to Amelia and Sherlock who smiled at him before turning back to Angelo, "Thanks you...thank you," he said before closing the door just as Mrs Hudson rushed into the room, looking very upset.

"Sherlock, what have you done?" Mrs Hudson asked tearfully.

"Mrs Hudson?" Sherlock asked as Amelia watched concerned.

"Upstairs," Mrs Hudson said.

John, Sherlock, and Amelia glanced at each other before rushing up the staircase, bursting into the living room to find Lestrade, lounging in Sherlock's chair, looking smug, the pink lady's case sat in front of him while his team searched everything they could get to.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock demanded, storming over to Lestrade.

"Have you ever heard of asking first, Lestrade?" Amelia frowned at him.

"Well, I knew you'd find the case," Lestrade shrugged, ignoring Amelia, "I'm not stupid".

"That doesn't give you the right to break into their flat," Amelia said.

"Well, he and for that matter you can't withhold evidence," Lestrade pointed his finger at Amelia before looking back at Sherlock, "And I didn't break in to your flat".

"What do you call this, then?" Sherlock throw his hands in the air and glared at Lestrade.

"It's a drugs bust," Lestrade said making Amelia groan.

"Seriously?" John smiled, looking as if he was about to laugh, "This guy? A junkie, have you met him?"

"John..." Sherlock said in a warning voice's while Amelia groaned into her hands.

"I'm pretty sure you could search this flat all day and you wouldn't find anything you could call recreationally," John continued on as Amelia sighed, shaking her head in the hope of John noticing.

"John, you probably want to shut up right now," Sherlock hissed as Amelia nodded.

"Yeah, but come on," John stared at him a moment, "No".

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"You?"

"Shut up," Sherlock said before turning back to Lestrade, "I'm not your sniffer dog".

"No, Anderson's my sniffer dog," Lestrade nodded to the kitchen were Anderson pulled the door back and gave them a wave.

"Anderson?" Sherlock blinked as he stared at him, "What are you doing here on a drugs bust?"

"Oh, I volunteered," Anderson told them smugly.

"And let me guess, so did everyone else," Amelia rolled her eyes and glared at Lestrade.

"They're very _keen_," Lestrade added, avoiding Amelia's glare.

Out of nowhere, Sergeant Donovan appeared, holding a jar, "Are these human eyes?"

"I'm not even going to ask," Amelia shook her head.

"Put those back!" Sherlock shouted.

"They were in the microwave".

"It's an experiment".

"That explains it," Amelia remarked, once again rolling her eyes.

"Keep looking guys!" Lestrade called to his term before turning back to the now pacing Sherlock, "Or you could start helping us properly and I will stand them down".

"This is childish," Sherlock snapped.

"Well, I'm dealing with a child," Lestrade replied, "Sherlock, this is our case. I'm letting you in, but you do not go off on your own. Clear?" he turned to Amelia, "Same for you".

"Spoil sport," Amelia muttered to John.

"So, you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?" Sherlock glared at Lestrade.

"It stops being pretended if they find anything".

"I am clean!"

"Is your flat?" Lestrade raised his eyebrows, "All of it?"

"I don't even smoke," Sherlock rolled his sleeve back to show a nicotine patch.

"Neither do I," Lestrade pulled his sleeve back to show his own nicotine patch.

"Did that just remained you of Harry Potter?" Amelia asked John.

"You like Harry Potter?" John asked, "I didn't pick you as the type".

"I love it," Amelia shook her head, "Best movie and book series in the world over then Morganville Vampire's of course but that's a different story".

"What are you talking about?" Sherlock frowned at them.

"Nothing," Amelia replied innocently, she could already see that trying to explain would take forever.

"If anyone's interested, we found Rachel," Lestrade cut in.

"Who is she?" Sherlock asked at once.

"Jenifer Wilson's only daughter".

"Her daughter?" Sherlock frowned, looking puzzled, "Why would she write her daughter's name? Why?"

"Never mind that!" Anderson cut in, "We found the case. According to someone, the murderer has the case and we found it in the hands of our favourite psychopath".

"Oh, please, Anderson," Amelia sighed, glaring at him, "He's a high-functioning _sociopath. _Do some research for once in your life, would you?"

Anderson went to give her a nasty reply but Sherlock turned to Lestrade, "You need to bring Rachel in and I need to question her".

"She's dead," Lestrade said.

"Excellent," Sherlock said.

"Sherlock, a little respect," Amelia frowned at him but you wasn't listening.

"How, when, and why?" Sherlock continued, talking to Lestrade, "Is there a connection? There _has_ to be".

"Well, I doubt it, since she's been dead for 14 years," Lestrade shook his head, Sherlock and Amelia frowned at him, "Technically she was never alive. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson's still born daughter, 14 years ago".

"Well, that's one idea gone," Amelia remarked, sighing.

"No," Sherlock frowned, shaking his head, "That's...that's not right. How...why would she do that? Why?"

"Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments?" Anderson rolled his eyes, "Yup, sociopath, I'm seeing it now".

"She didn't think about her daughter," Sherlock snapped at him, "She scratched her name on the floor with her fingernails. She was dying. It took effort, it would have hurt".

"You said that the victims all took the poison themselves," John remarked, looking over to them, "That he makes them take it, well, maybe he...I don't know...talks to them. Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow".

"Good point, John," Amelia nodded thoughtfully.

"Yeah, but that was _ages_ ago," Sherlock waved it off, "Why would she still be upset?" he looked around to find everyone staring at him, completely silent, glancing at Amelia and John, "Not good?"

"Bit not good, yeah," John nodded.

"Do you think before you speak or do you just let it come out?" Amelia questioned, giving him an odd look.

"If you were dying, if you were being murdered, in your very last few seconds, what would you say?"

"Please, God, let me live?" John answered.

"Use your imagination!"

"I don't have to," John told him seriously, reminding Sherlock about his time fighting in the war. Amelia patted him on his shoulder, receiving a grateful look from John.

"Yeah, but if you were clever, really clever...Jennifer Wilson, running all those lovers, she was clever. She's trying to tell us something".

Mrs. Hudson walked up the stairs, "Isn't the doorbell working? You're taxi's here, Sherlock".

"I didn't order a taxi," Sherlock snapped as he started pacing, "Go away".

"Sherlock," Amelia gave him a warning look.

"Oh, dear," Mrs. Hudson sighed, looking around at the room, "They're making such a mess. What are they looking for?"

"It's a drugs bust, Mrs. Hudson," John told her.

"Don't worry, we'll help you clean up later," Amelia smiled at her.

"But they're just for my hip," Mrs. Hudson said to John, looking worried, "They're herbal soothers..."

"Shut up, everybody!" Sherlock suddenly exploded, "Don't speak, don't breath. I'm trying to think, Anderson, face the other way. You're putting me off".

"What?" Anderson frowned, "My face is?"

"Everybody quiet and still," Lestrade ordered, "Anderson, turn your back".

"Oh, for God's sake!" Anderson exclaimed.

"Your back, now, please!" Lestraide glared at him until he turned away, facing the wall.

"Come on, think," Sherlock started rubbing the back of his head, "Quick!"

"What about your taxi?" Mrs. Hudson asked, watching him pace.

"MRS. HUDSON!" Sherlock yelled, making her turn and run back down stairs, Amelia went to shout at him but stopped at the look on his face, "Oh...ah! She was _clever_. Clever, yes! She's cleverer than you lot and she's dead. Do you see, do you get it?" he started pacing again, "She didn't lose her phone, she never lost it. She PLANTED it on him. When she got out of the car, she _knew_ that she was going to her death. She left her phone in order to lead us to her killer".

"But how?" Lestrade shook his head as Amelia gasped in realization.

"Oh, I'm so thick," Amelia muttered to herself, getting odd looks from Lestrade and John.

"What do you mean, how? Rachel! Don't you see? Rachel!" he looked around the room at everyone, but they stared at him blankly while Amelia nodded, "Oh...look at you lot. You're all so vacant. Except Amelia, you understand".

"Rachel isn't a name," Amelia nodded.

"Then what is it?" John asked.

"Take a look at the label on the suitcase," Amelia gestured to it, "E-mail address".

"Er," John glanced at Sherlock who was muttering under his breath about something before sighing, turning to the case next to him, reading the tag while Sherlock walked over to the desk with an open laptop on it, "Jenny-pink-at-mephone-org-uk".

"She didn't have a laptop, which means she did her business on her phone," Sherlock explained as he typed the addresses in, bring the information up as John, Lestrade, and Amelia looked over his shoulder at the screen, "A smartphone, it's e-mail enabled. So there was a website for her account. The username is her e-mail address and, all together, the password is…"

"Rachel," John and Amelia said.

"So we can read her e-mails," Anderson spoke up from the back of the room, rolling his eyes, "So what?"

"Anderson, don't talk out loud," Sherlock rolled his eyes, not looking at him, "You lower the IQ of the whole street," Amelia covered her laugh with a very fake cough, earning a glare from Anderson and a slightly smug look from Sherlock, "We can do much _more_ than that. It's a smartphone, it's got GPS. Which means if you lose it, you can locate it online. She's leading us directly to the man who killed her!"

"What if he got rid of it?" Lestrade questioned, frowning.

"One step ahead of you, Lestrade," Amelia said, "We know he didn't".

"Come on, come on," Sherlock muttered, waiting for the programme to work, "Quickly!"

"Deep breaths, Sherlock," Amelia remarked, making him send her an annoyed look.

"Sherlock, dear," Mrs Hudson called, coming back upstairs, "This taxi driver…"

"Mrs Hudson," Sherlock pushed himself back from the desk, walking over to her in the doorway as John took his place at the computer, "Isn't it time for your evening soother?" Amelia gave him a look as he turned to Lestrade, "Get vehicles, get helicopters. This phone battery won't last forever".

"Tell me about it," Amelia sighed glumly, thinking of her own dead battery, "You guys wouldn't mind if I gave it a quick charge here, would you?"

"We'll just have a map reference, not a name," Lastrade said, Amelia shrugged, getting her phone charger out with her phone and began to charge them.

"It's a start!" Sherlock nodded.

"Sherlock…" John called, watching as the map on the screen zoomed in.

"Narrows it down from just anyone in London," Sherlock continued, ignoring John, "It's the first proper lead that we've got".

"Sherlock!" both John and Amelia called.

Sherlock turned to them, "Where is it? Quickly, where?"

"Here, it's…" John trailed off, frowning at the blinking dot, "It's 221 Baker Street".

"But it can't be," Amelia shook her head, staring at the screen.

"How can it be here?" Sherlock added, frowning as he heard someone walking up the stairs, "How?"

"Maybe it was in the case when you brought it back and it…fell out somewhere," Lestrade suggested, Amelia shook her head again, turning away from the computer, looking thoughtful.

Sherlock looked over to the doorway were a man was standing in the shadows behind Mrs Hudson, the cab driver, "What, and I didn't notice? Me…_I_ didn't notice? Not mentioning Amelia".

Amelia looked surprised at the complement; she had always been told that Sherlock Holmes never gave complements but hadn't he complemented her numerous times throughout the night?

"Anyway, we texted him and he called back," John said, turning to Lestrade.

Amelia eyes flicked to Sherlock as his body language changed suddenly, enough to make her realise that he was looking at someone other than Mrs Hudson standing outside the door.

"Guys," Lestrade said, turning to his team, "We're also looking for a mobile somewhere here, belonged to the victim…"

"_Who do we trust, even if we don't know them?" _Sherlock thought, staring at the man, not taking any notice of Amelia who had moved beside him, thinking the same thing, _"Who passes unnoticed wherever they go? Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?"_

The cabbie dressed in an old vest and cap, stubble and glass took the pink phone out of his pocket and sent something, Sherlock's phone dinged. He took his own phone from his pocket and checked it.

"Sherlock, Amelia," John called to them, seeing them staring at the door, "You two okay? What…"

"Yeah, yeah," Sherlock nodded, "I'm fine".

"Amelia?"

"Hmm?" she blinked before shaking her head to clear her thoughts, "Yeah, I'm fine…never better".

"So, how can the phone be here?" John asked as the cab driver started making his way back down stairs.

"Don't know," Sherlock said, watching the cabby distracted.

"I'll try again," John sighed.

"Good idea," Sherlock said as Amelia hummed her agreement, both pulling their coats on.

"Where are you two going?" John asked, frowning at them both.

"Fresh air, just popping outside for a moment," Sherlock lied, "Won't be long".

"Yes, my thoughts exactly," Amelia nodded, "It's quit airless in here, perhaps tomorrow you should think of opening a window".

"You sure you're alright?" John asked, frowning at how strange there where acting even for them.

"I'm fine," Sherlock said over his shoulder as he and Amelia walked down stairs, stepping outside to find the cabbie leaning against his black cab calmly.

"Taxi for Sherlock Homes," the man smirked at them, "Hello Miss Wilson, nice to meet you".

"You know me?" Amelia frowned, looking the man over, "How?"

"Friend of a friend," he shrugged, "He told me you might follow, he also told me not to touch you. Said that if I did he would kill me himself".

Amelia looked angry for a moment before she replied calmly, "Yeah that sounds like him".

Sherlock frowned at them both, deciding to put that piece of information at the back of his mind for the moment, turning back to the cabbie, "We didn't order a taxi".

"Doesn't mean you don't need one".

"You're the cabbie," Sherlock said, recognizing him from when they chased the cab with the American down, "The one who stopped outside Northumberland Street. It was _you_. Not your passenger".

"See?" the cabbie smiled, "No one ever thinks about the _cabbie_. It's like you're invisible. Just the back of an 'ead. Proper advantage for a serial killer".

"Is this your way of confessing?" Amelia asked.

"Oh, yeah. I'll tell you what else…if you call the coppers now, I won't run. I'll sit quiet and they can take me down, I promise".

"Why?" Sherlock asked.

"'Cos you're not going to do that".

"We're not?" Amelia raised her eyebrows.

"I didn't kill those people, Miss Wilson, Mr Holmes," the cabbie said, "I spoke to 'em…and they killed themselves. If you get the coppers now, I'll promise you one thing," he leaned forward as if you reveal a big secret, "I will _never_ tell you what I said".

"True," Amelia nodded, glancing at Sherlock to see what he thought but he was watching the cabbie blankly as the man moved around to the back of the car, "But no one else will die".

"I believe they call that a result," Sherlock added.

The cabbie stopped, "And you won't understand how those people died. What kind of result do you care about?" he opened the drives door open and got in, waiting.

Sherlock cast a glance around the street, weighing up the risks before saying very quietly to Amelia, "Go back inside, make something up to them so I'll have time".

Amelia laughed quietly, "As if, Mr Holmes. I'm coming".

Sherlock gave her a annoyed look, going to demanded that she did what he said when she stopped him, "Sherlock, I promise you that if you demanded me to leave then you will regret it. I'm not a child, I have worked on cases like this before so stop pretending as if you don't need someone to help you," she glanced at the cabbie before holding her hand out to Sherlock, "Let's make a deal, shall we? Business partners? We work together on cases; it'll get Lestrade off my back for a while and your brother of yours if he knows that we're working together".

Sherlock thought about it before nodding, quickly shaking her hand and letting it go. He walked over to the cab, leaning down to look through the open window at the cabbie, "If I wanted to understand…what would I do?"

"Let me take you for a drive," was the reply.

"So you can kill me too?" Sherlock raised his eyebrows, remembering what was said about not hurting Amelia.

"I don't want to kill you, Mr Holmes," the cabbie shook his head, "I'm going to talk to ya…" he smirked, "And then you're going to kill yourself".

Sherlock leaned back, thinking it over before getting into the back with Amelia following close behind. The cabbie started the car and began to pull away from 122B Baker Street as the pink phone in the man's pocket rang, Amelia and Sherlock exchanged a look, glancing up to see John standing in the window trying to call.

….

"They just got in a cab…" John frowned, watching below as the taxi drove away with Amelia and Sherlock before turning to Lestrade, "Its Sherlock and Amelia. They just drove off in a cab".

"I told you, he does that," Donovan said, "He bloody left again. We're wasting our time!"

"I'm…calling the phone," John told Lestrade as Donovan stormed into the kitchen, "It's ringing out".

"If it's ringing, it's not here," Lestrade sighed.

"I'll try the search again," John grabbed the laptop and started the search up.

"Does it matter?" Donovan shook her head, looking frustrated, "Does any of it? He's just a lunatic, she's not any better, and they'll always let you down. And you're wasting your time. All our time".

Lestrade looked around them before signing in defeat, "Okay, everybody…done here".

….

"How did you fine us?" Sherlock questioned after the pink phone stopped ringing.

"Oh, I recognized ya," the cabbie replied, "Soon as I saw you chasing my cab. Sherlock Holmes and Amelia Wilson! I was warned about you both. I've been on your website too," he said to Sherlock, "Brilliant stuff! Loved it".

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, "_Who_ warned you about us?"

"Just someone out there who's noticed," he said mysteriously.

"Who?" Sherlock demanded, "Who would notice us?"

"Yeah, thanks for that, Sherlock," Amelia remarked.

"You're too modest, Mr Holmes".

"I'm really not".

"I second that," Amelia added.

"You've got yourself a fan," the cabbie smirked.

"Tell me more".

"That's all you're going to know," he said before adding creepily, "In THIS lifetime".

….

"Why did they do it?" Lestrade sighed, pulling his coat on, talking to John.

"You know them better than I do," John pointed out.

"I've known him for five years and her for two," Lestrade shrugged, "And no, I don't".

"So why do you put up with them?" John asked.

"Because I'm desperate, that's why," Lestrade admitted, stopping in the doorway to look back at John, "And because Sherlock Holmes is a great man…if we're very, very lucky, he might be a good one".

"And Amelia?"

"There's no doubt in my mind that Amelia is one of the finest women I have ever met," Lestrade told John seriously, "Take it from me, once your friends with her, she will do everything and anything to help you in when you need it most because…because she knows what it's like better than most".

He nodded at John before walking out.

….

The cabbie continued to drive them for a few minutes until they reached two tall, normal looking buildings, pulling to a stop, "Where are we?" Sherlock asked as the cabbie got out of the cab, walking around to open Amelia's door.

"You know every street in London," the man replied, "You know exactly where we are".

"Roland-Kerr Further Education Collage," Sherlock and Amelia said in unison, both looking at each other once they realised.

"Oh, that was creepy," Amelia remarked, shaking her head and turning back to the smirking cabbie, "Why here?"

"It's open," the cabbie shrugged, "Cleaners are in. one thing about being a cabbie, you knows a nice quiet spot for murder. I'm surprised more of us don't branch out".

"And you just walk you victims in? How?" the cabbie pulled out a handgun, aiming it at Sherlock, "Oh…" he rolled his eyes, sighing, "Dull".

"Don't worry," the man smirked, "It gets better".

"I'm sure it does," Amelia cut in, "But you can't force people to take their own lives with you holding a gun".

"I don't. It's much better than that. Don't need this with you," he said, talking to Sherlock as he put the gun away, "'Cos you'll follow me".

The cabbie turned and began walking towards the building on the right. Amelia glanced at Sherlock who sighed before they both climbed out, following after the other man.

….

John started to make his way towards the doorway, leading down stairs back at Baker Street when he remembered his cane, glancing over to it on the desk he decided to grab it anyway as well as Amelia's phone that she had left behind. He started walking back toward the door when the laptop pinged, locating were the pink phone was.

He grabbed the computer and ran down the stairs, as soon as he saw the map, once again forgetting his cane.

….

The cab driver led Sherlock and Amelia through the hallways before coming at a stop at two doors. He pushed them open, turning on the lights to reveal a large classroom with rows of desks and chairs, gesturing for Sherlock and Amelia to entire first.

"Well, what do you think?" the cabbie asked them as they moved into the middle of the room, looking around, "It's up to you. You're the one who's going to die here".

"No, I'm not," Sherlock shook his head, Amelia sat herself down on top of one of the tables, watching them.

"That's what they all say," the man shrugged, "Shall we talk?"

The cabbie pulled out a chair and sat, Sherlock did the same on the other side of the table, "Bit risky, wasn't it?" Sherlock started, "Taking us away under the eye of about half a dozen policemen. They're not that stupid. And Mrs Hudson will remember you".

"Call that a risk?" the cabbie asked, shaking his head, "Nah…THIS is a risk," he took his hand out of his pocket and pulled out a clear bottle with one pill inside, Sherlock and Amelia eyed it, "Oh, I like this bit. 'Cos you don't get it yet, do ya? But you're about to. I just have to do this…" he pulled out another bottle with an identical pill inside it and placed it beside the other, "Weren't expecting that, were ya? Oh, you're going to love this".

"Love what?" Sherlock asked while Amelia tried to work out which pill was which, already guessing what was about to happen.

"Sherlock Holmes! Look at you! Here in the flesh. That website of yours, your fan told me about it".

"My fan?"

"You're brilliant," the cabbie said seriously, glancing at Amelia, "So she. Both proper geniuses. The Science of Deduction. Now, that…is proper thinking. Between you two and me sitting here, why can't people think? Don't it make you mad? Why can't people just think?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, "Oh, I see…so you're a proper genius too".

"Well, I know I didn't see that," Amelia remarked.

"Don't look it, do I?" the cabbie said, "Funny little man driving a cab. But you'll know better in a minute. Chances are it'll be the last thing you EVER know".

"Okay, two bottles," Sherlock said after a moment, "Explain".

"Isn't it simple, Sherlock?" Amelia said, making both men look at her, "One bottle is poison and the other isn't. Pick the wrong bottle and…you, well, die".

"He was right about you," the cabbie smirked at her, "Said you were bright, caught onto things quick. He never told me why I couldn't touch ya, only that it wouldn't be good".

"I would take what he said to heart," Amelia sighed, "He would destroy you without hesitation".

Sherlock eyed the bottles, only half listening to the conversation, "Both bottles are of course identical".

"In every way," the cabbie confirmed.

"And you know which is which".

"Of course I know".

"But I don't".

"Wouldn't be a game if you knew," the cabbie shrugged, "You're the one who chooses".

"I miss the old day where games were hide and seek, stuff like that," Amelia remarked, trying to buy Sherlock more time to work the bottles out.

"Why should I?" Sherlock asked the cabbie, ignoring Amelia, "I've got nothing to go on. What's in it for me?"

"I haven't told you the best bit yet. Whatever bottle _you_ choose, I take the pill from the other one. And then together…we take our medicine," Sherlock slowly began to smirk and Amelia forced herself not to groan, "I won't cheat. It's your choice. I'll take whatever pill you don't. Didn't expect that, did you, Mr Holmes?"

"This is what you did to the rest of them," Sherlock nodded as he understood; "You gave them a choice?"

"And now I'm giving you one," the cabbie nodded, "You take your time. Get yourself together. I want your best game".

"It's not a game, it's chance," Sherlock corrected.

"I've played four times. I'm alive. It's not chance, Mr Holmes, it's chess. It's a game of chess, with one move…and one survivor. And this…this…is the move," the cabbie moved one of the bottles forward, "Did I just give you the good bottle or the bad bottle? You can choose either one".

No one spoke for a minute or so while Sherlock eyed the cabbie, not taking his eyes off him.

"You ready yet, Mr Holmes?" the cabbie asked him, "Ready to play?"

"Play what? It's a 50:50 chance".

"You're not playing the numbers, you're playing _me_," the cabbie reminded, "Did I just give you the good pill or the bad pill? Is it a bluff, or a double bluff? Or a triple bluff?"

"It's still chance," Sherlock argued as Amelia nodded her agreement.

"Four people, in a row? It's not chance".

"Luck," Amelia and Sherlock said simply.

"It's genius!" the cabbie augured, "I know how people think. I know how people think I think. I can see it all like a map inside my head. Everyone's so stupid, even you. God just loves me".

"Either way, you're wasted as a cabbie," Sherlock remarked, bring his hands together under his chin, "So…you risked your life four times just to kill strangers? Why?"

"Time to play," the cabbie said, nodded down to the bottles.

"Oh, I am playing," Sherlock said, eying the other man while Amelia watched off to the side, "This is my turn. There's shaving foam behind your left ear. Nobody's pointed it out to you. Traces of where it's happened before, so obviously you live on your own…there's no one to tell you. But there's a photograph of children," Amelia's mind flashed back to when they were in the cab and she noticed a picture of two children and half the face of a women, "Their mother's been cut out. If she'd died, she'd still be there. The photograph's old, but the frame's new. You think of your children, but you don't get to see them. Estranged father. She took the kids, but you still love them and it still hurts. Ah, but there's more. Your clothes. Recently laundered, but everything you're wearing is at least...three years old? Keeping up appearances, but not planning ahead. And here you are on a kamikaze murder spree. What's that about? Ah... Three years ago. Is that when they told you?"

"Told me what?"

"You're dying," Amelia spoke up, "Dead man walking".

"So he," the cabbie nodded to Sherlock.

"You don't have long, though," Sherlock added, "Am I right?"

The cabbie sighed, "Aneurism," he pointed to the side of his head, "Right ere'. Any breath could be my last".

"And because you're dying, you've gone out and murdered four people," Amelia said.

"I've outlived four people," the cabbie corrected, "That's the most fun you can have with an aneurism".

"No...No, there's something else," Sherlock shook his head, "You didn't just kill four people because you're bitter. Bitterness is a paralytic. Love is much more vicious motivator. Somehow, this is about your children".

"Oh…you _are_ good, aren't ya?" the cabbie sighed.

"But how?" Sherlock said more to himself then anything.

"Money," Amelia realised, looking at the cabbie, "This has something to do with money, not for you but for your kids".

"When I die they won't get much, my kids," the cabbie nodded, "Not a lot in driving cabs".

"Or serial killing," Sherlock remarked.

"You'd be surprised".

"Surprise me".

"I have a sponsor," the cabbie replied, making Amelia sigh, having guessed as much.

"You have a what?" Sherlock frowned.

"For every life I take, money goes to my kids," the cabbie explained, "The more I kill…the better off they'll be. You see? It's nicer then you think".

"Who'd sponsor a serial killer?" Sherlock asked, frowning.

"Who'd be a fan of Sherlock Holmes? You're not the only one who enjoys a good murder. There's others out there just like you, Miss Wilson's proves that, except you're just a man. And they're so much more then that".

"What do you mean…more than a man?" Sherlock asked, "An organisation…? What?"

"There's a name, that no one says," the cabbie said, off to the side Amelia froze, waiting with batted breath, Sherlock noticed and glanced at her, noticing how sickly pale she had gone, "And I'm not going to say it either," Amelia sighed quietly in relief, "Now, enough chatter. Time to choose".

Sherlock glanced back down at the table and back to the cabbie, "What if I don't choose either? We could just walk out of here".

The cabbie sighed and brought his handgun out of his pocket, aiming it at Sherlock, "Take the 50:50 chance, or I can shoot you in the head. Funnily enough, no one ever gone for that option".

"I'll have the gun, please," Sherlock replied.

"Are you sure?"

"Definitely. The gun".

"You don't want to phone as friend?"

"The gun," Sherlock repented, the cabbie fired but only a small flame emerged from the top, Sherlock and Amelia smiled, having already worked out that it was fake, "I know a real gun when I see one".

"None of the others did," the cabbie said.

"Clearly," Sherlock remarked, "Well, this has been very interesting. I look forward to the court case. Come along, Amelia," he stood as Amelia followed suit, giving the cabbie a cherry wave behind her as they headed for the doors.

"Before you go," the cabbie called after them, making them pause, "Did you figure it out? Which one's the good bottle?"

"Couse. Child's play".

"Well, which one?" the cabbie asked, Sherlock turned slightly to look at the other man while Amelia groaned, "Which one would you have picked? Just so I know whether I could have beaten you. Come on! Play the game," Sherlock slowly walked back over to the table, picking the bottle in front of the cabbie up, twisting it in his hands, "Oh! Interesting," the cabbie took the pill out of his bottle and looked at it while Sherlock examined his own, Amelia looking in-between them both, "So what do you think? Shall we? Really…what do you think?" the cabbie stood from his chair, "Can you beat me? Are you clever enough…to bet your life?"

"Sherlock," Amelia said in a warning voice but both men ignored her.

"I bet you get bored, both of you, don't you? I know you do. A man and woman like you," Sherlock undid his bottle, "So clever. But what's the point of being clever if you can't prove it?" Sherlock held his pill up to the light, "Still the addict. But this…this is what you're really addicted to. You'll do anything…anything at all, to stop being bored," both men began to slowly raise the pills to their mouths, Amelia saw something out of the corner of her eye and she looked over her shoulder to see John in the opposite building, holding a gun, "You're not bored now, are ya? Isn't it good?"

A shot rang out at the exact moment that Amelia threw herself to the side to avoid being hit; the cabbie was thrown backwards, blood pouring from his chest. Sherlock quickly helped Amelia up before rushing over to the window with a bullet hole in the middle of it, climbing over a desk to do so, breathing deeply but not being able to see the shooter.

From behind him the cabbie gave a gasp and started coughing; Amelia was already kneeling beside him, trying to stop the bleeding with her white blazer that she had taken off. Sherlock grabbed his pill and stood over the bleeding man.

"Was I right?" he demanded.

"Sherlock!" Amelia exclaimed, looking at him in disbelief.

"I was, wasn't I?" Sherlock continued but the cabbie smiled, refusing to answer, "Did I get it right?"

Sherlock, giving up, throw the pill at the cabbies face, ignoring Amelia's shout as he forcefully pushed her blood soaked hands and jacket away before standing over the cabbie, "Okay…tell me this. Your sponsor. Who was it. The one who told you about me, my fan. I want a name".

"Sherlock…" Amelia tried but he silenced her with a look.

"No…" the cabbie gasped.

"You're dying, but there's still time to hurt you," Sherlock said, ignoring the horrified look on Amelia's face, "Give me…a name," he pressed his shoe onto the wound, the man cried out as Sherlock pushed, Amelia forced herself to look away, "A name! Now. The name!"

"MORIARTY!"

He gave one last shuddering breath of pain and died. Sherlock mouthed the name, thinking it over when he noticed Amelia was still sitting on the floor, covered in blood, some of it had even got on the side of her face but what drew his attention most was that she was shacking, sickly pale with a signal tear running down her cheek before she wiped it away, smearing even more blood.

"Amelia…" Sherlock began but she cut him off.

"No, Sherlock," Amelia shook her head, forcing herself to look calm as she stood, "I understand and it's not that, just forget about it," she court her reflection on the glass window and groaned, "Oh, I only just bought this suit. My dry cleaner may be good but even she can't get blood stains out of wool, let alone white wool".

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at her, "I would have thought that you would be more concerned about just watching a man die".

"I am," Amelia sighed, "One thing about me, Mr Holmes, when I'm really, really worried; I'll start talking about my clothes. It's a bit of a coping tool".

Sherlock shrugged and walked out, Amelia quickly following behind, causing under her breath as she tried pointlessly to rub the blood of her hands.

….

Sherlock and Amelia sat beside each other at the back of an ambulance, Amelia trying uselessly to scrub the blood of herself while Sherlock sat in thought until he felt someone put a red blanket around him as Lestrade walked over.

"Why have I got this blanket?" Sherlock frowned at Lestrade while Amelia made an amused sound, having listened to him complained the last two times he had it on, "They keep putting this blanket on me".

"Yeah, it's for shock," Lestrade said.

"I'm not in shock," Sherlock argued.

"Yeah, but some of the guys want to take photographs," Lestrade exchanged an amused look with Amelia.

"So, the shooter. No sign?"

"Cleared off before we got here," Lestrade replied as Amelia shifted slightly, "But a guy like that would have had enemies, I suppose. One of them could have been following him, but…we've got nothing to go on".

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Sherlock said, smirking before Amelia could stop him.

"Okay, give me".

"Sherlock, wouldn't it be better…" but Sherlock cut across her before she could finish, standing up.

"The bullet they just dug out of the wall's from a handgun. A kill shot over that distance, that's a crack shot. But not just a marksman, a fighter. His hands couldn't have shaken at all so clearly he's acclimatised to violence. He didn't fire until I was in immediate danger though, so strong moral principle. You're looking for a man probably with a history of military service, and..." he trailed off as he saw John standing in the crowd with his hands behind his back, "Nerves of steel…" he glanced at Amelia who nodded, confirming that John was indeed the shooter, turning to Lestrade, "Actually, do you know what? Ignore me".

"Sorry?" Lestrade asked, blinking in surprise at Sherlock Holmes telling someone to ignore him.

"Ignore all of that," Sherlock repented, "It's just the er…the," he looked around when he spotted Amelia mouthing something to him, "The shock talking".

"Where are you two going?" Lestrade called as they started walking away.

"I just need to…talk about the rent".

"I've got questions".

Sherlock stopped and turned background, "What, now? I'm in shook, so is Amelia, look," he tugged on the blanket around Amelia's shoulders and his own blanket, "I've got a blanket".

"Sherlock! Amelia!"

"We just caught you a serial killer," Amelia added, "…sort of".

Lestrade eyed them before sighing, "Okay, we'll pull you two in tomorrow, off you go".

Sherlock and Amelia nodded, turning away and walking over to John, Sherlock chucking his blanket into a police car they past while Amelia kept hers on to try and cover the blood.

"Er, Sergeant Donovan has…just been explaining everything," John told them offhand, acting innocent, "The two pills…dreadful business, isn't it? Dreadful".

"Oh, yes, very," Amelia smiled, winking at John.

"Good shot," Sherlock said to him.

"Yes," John nodded, "Yes, must have been. Through that window".

"Well, you would know," Sherlock replied, giving John a look while Amelia smiled, "Need to get the powder burns out of your fingers. I don't suppose you'd serve for this, but let's avoid the court case;" John looked around him, "Are you alright?"

"Yes, of course I'm alright," John said.

"You have just killed a man," Amelia reminded him.

"Yes," John nodded slowly, "That's true, isn't it? But he wasn't a very nice man".

"No," Sherlock agreed, smirking, "No, he wasn't really, was he?"

"Frankly a bloody awful cabbie," John added.

"That's true," Sherlock laughed as Amelia smiled, starting to walk, "He _was_ a bad cabbie. You should have seen the route he took us to get here".

John started laughing, "Stop it," Sherlock and Amelia joined him, "We can't giggle, it's a crime scene. Stop it".

"Well, you're the one who shot him," Sherlock remarked.

"Keep your voice down," John cleared his throat as Donovan passed, smirking at Amelia when she noticed that dried blood on her cheek, "Sorry, it's just er…nerves, I think".

"Sorry," Sherlock and Amelia nodded to Donovan as they passed her.

"You were going to take that damn pill, weren't you?" John said to Sherlock, stopping.

Sherlock scoffed, looking back at him, "Course I wasn't. Biding my time. Knew you'd turn up," he glanced at Amelia, "Or Amelia would have stopped him".

"I would have tried," Amelia shrugged.

"No, you didn't," John scoffed, shaking his head at him, "That's how you get your kicks, isn't it? You risk your life to prove you're clever".

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you're an idiot".

Amelia laughed and high fived John with her hand covered with the blanket, Sherlock smirked, "Dinner?"

John nodded as they began walking again, "Starving. Amelia?"

"Same," she smiled before sighing, "How about we eat in? I'm paying".

"End of Baker Street there's a good Chinese," Sherlock said, "Stays open til two. Delivers to your door. You can always tell a good Chinese by the bottom third door handle".

"Sherlock…" John stopped as he saw the man from the old warehouse getting out of a car, "That's him, that's the man Amelia and I talked to you about".

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, walking over to the man with Amelia and John following, "I know _exactly_ who that is".

"So…" Mycroft said, eyeing Sherlock, nodding to Amelia, "Another case cracked. How very public-spirited. Though that's never really your motivation, is it?"

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock frowned at him.

"As ever, I'm concerned about you," Mycroft replied.

"Yes, I've been hearing about your 'concern…'" Sherlock cast John and Amelia looks.

"Always so aggressive," Mycroft sighed, "Did it ever occur to you that you and I belong on the same side?"

"Oddly enough…no".

"We have more in common than you'd like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply _childish_. People will suffer. And you know how much it upset mummy".

"And the plot thinks," Amelia smiled at John who was looking in between the two men, trying to work out what he had just heard.

"_I_ upset her?" Sherlock scoffed, "_Me_? It wasn't _me_ that upset her, Mycroft".

"No," John shook her head, cutting in, "No, wait…mummy? Who's mummy?"

"Yes, there mother," Amelia said before Sherlock could, "Surly you can see how alike they really are? No, pity," she walked around to the other side of the two Holmes so John could see them clearer, "Same eye colour, same deducting skills, both neatly dressed…" she looked pointy at Sherlock, "Most of the time from what I've heard. There even the same height".

"I never realised how observant you truly are, Miss Wilson," Mycroft smiled at her, "But I'm afraid that you seem to have missed a patch of blood on your cheek".

Amelia groaned and started rubbing her cheek with the blanket, "Yeah, I know. I completely destroyed my outfit to," She shrugged the blanket off, looking down at herself, "I knew there was a reason why I didn't wear white on a case".

Mycroft chuckled and Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the two of them, stepping in front of Amelia, "Putting on weight again, Mycroft?"

"Losing it in fact," Mycroft replied, Amelia rolled her eyes, moving to stand beside John.

"He's your brother?" John said, still shocked by the news.

"Courses he's my brother," Sherlock sighed.

"So he's not…" John trailed off, Mycroft and Sherlock looked at him while Amelia struggled to stop herself from laughing.

"Not what?" Sherlock frowned.

"I don't know…the criminal mastermind?"

Sherlock looked back to his brother, "Close enough".

"For goodness sake," Mycroft exclaimed, shaking his head, "I occupy a _minor_ position in the British government".

"He IS the British government, when he's not too busy being the British Secret Service or the CIA on a freelance basis. Good evening, Mycroft," Sherlock turned to walk away, "Try not to start a war before I get home, you know what it does for the traffic".

Sherlock went to walk away but Amelia grabbed his arm, pulling him back, "Sherlock, behave. I still have something to discuss with your brother".

"Yes, Miss Wilson?" Mycroft asked.

"Seeing as Sherlock and I will be working together, I think it's time we forget about the past and try to be friends or at least friendly towards each other," Amelia said, "Now, I would shack your hand but I doubt you would like partly dry blood on your hands too. I apologies for my remarks earlier today and throughout the past five years".

"Mrs Wilson, you do not need to apologise," Mycroft smiled, "It would be my honour to be a friend with you".

"Okay then," Amelia nodded, giving Sherlock a stern look when he went to walk away, "Don't you dare, Sherlock Holmes. Well, first of all, Mycroft, no more 'Miss Wilson,' please. Amelia's fine".

"Amelia," Sherlock whined.

"You may be a genies, Sherlock, but you can act like a five year old sometimes," Amelia rolled her eyes at him, saying good bye to Mycroft and letting Sherlock drag her away.

"So, when you say that you're concerned about him…you actually are concerned?" John asked, eyeing Mycroft.

"Yes, of course".

"I mean, it actually is a childish feud?"

"He's always been so resentful. You can imagine the Christmas dinners".

"Yeah…" John trailed off, shaking his head, "No…God, no. I'd better of er," he nodded toward Sherlock and Amelia when he court sight of the women from earlier, "Hello again".

"Hello," 'Anthea' looked up from her phone.

"We met earlier on this evening," John said.

"Oh!"

"Okay, goodnight," John nodded, realising she didn't care.

"Goodnight, Dr Watson," Mycroft nodded as John quickly caught up with Sherlock and Amelia .

"So, dim sum," John said, catching up with them, "Mmm!"

"I can always predict for the fortune cookies," Sherlock remarked.

"No, you can't," John and Amelia said.

"Almost can. You did get shot, though".

"Sorry?" John asked, surprised by the sudden change.

"He's talking about Afghanistan," Amelia said.

"There was an actual wound," Sherlock nodded.

"Oh, yeah, shoulder".

"Shoulder!" Sherlock smirked, "I thought so".

"No, you didn't".

"The left one".

"Lucky guess".

"I never guess".

"Yeah, you do," John said, eyeing him to see both Amelia and Sherlock smiling widely, "What are you so happy about?"

"Moriarty," Amelia's smile vanished and she once again paled.

"What's Moriarty?" John asked.

"I've absolutely no idea," Sherlock laughed, turning a corner when suddenly the sound of a phone sounded through air .

John quickly fished it out of his pocket and passed it to Amelia, explaining that he had grabbed it earlier. Amelia quickly read the text and froze were she was standing, staring at the screen.

**C u soon, Amy :)**

**J.**

"No," Amelia breathed.

"Amelia?" Sherlock and John frowned.

She blinked at them, shaking her head and faking a smile, "I'm fine…just tired. You guys wouldn't mind if I skip dinner, would you? I'm not really hungry. Plus I still have to pick up some things from my house, try and wash this blood off, burn my clothes, and start unpacking my new flat," John went to say something but Amelia quickly turned and started jogging down the street, waving behind her, "Oh, good, thanks. Night!"

Sherlock and John stared after her, John completely baffled while Sherlock looked thoughtful before shrugging and heading off in a different diction, John quickly followed.

….

"Sir," 'Anthea' asked, watching as the tro disappeared around the corner of a building, "Shall we go?"

"Interesting, that solder fellow," Mycroft remarked, still watching the corner, "Also how fast my brother has taken to Amelia. They could be the making of him…or make him worse than ever. Either way, we'd better upgrade their surveillance status. Grade three active".

"Sorry, sir, whose status?"

"Sherlock Holmes, Dr John Watson, and Miss Amelia Wilson M".

….

Amelia gently placed a photo frame with a picture of her parents standing outside the house she grew up in, smiling at the camera, arms around each other. It fit in very well on top of the Victorian style fireplace, just another thing that had surprised her about her new flat.

The living room was larger than she was expecting, the walls were a very light grey, dark wood flooring with two Victorian style windows, facing the street like Sherlock and Johns flat. The kitchen was much the same as the living room only half the size. There were three bedrooms, each large enough for a double bed to sit comfortably but Amelia was turning one into an office.

The master bedroom had its own bathroom and large dressing room that had made Amelia shout in delight. All in all, the flat was perfect, even better than what she had been expecting from seeing Sherlock's cramped flat.

Amelia began going through another box filled with books when her phone buzzed, sighing to herself she read the text the message:

**Do u have any tea bags?**

**SH.**

Amelia shook her head, texting back:

**Sherlock, it's 4 o'clock in the morning, can't you wait?**

**AW.**

Almost immediately:

**No. Tea bags?**

**SH.**

Rolling her eyes, Amelia replied:

**Fine…**

**AW.**

A moment later, the door that Amelia had been sure was locked opened and Sherlock stepped in, closing the door behind him. He was still dressed in the same clothes from earlier only he had left his jacket behind.

Likewise, Sherlock took in Amelia's outfit, ordinary blue jeans, bear feat that showed red nail polished toes, and a simple dark green button up shirt. Instead of her brown hair being up in an elegant bun, she had left it out so it reached the middle of her back in natural waves; she hadn't bothered to redo her make-up either.

I thought that door was locked?" Amelia frowned, going back to sorting her books, "In fact, I was sure of it".

"Mrs Hudson gave me the key," Sherlock shrugged, moving around the room, taking in everything that had already been put in place, "You like animals," he remarked, finding a photo of an eight year old Amelia, smiling, with a banner behind her reading: 'Happy eighth birthday, Amelia!' holding a little black puppy in her hands that she had just recovered for a present.

"My first puppy," Amelia smiled fondly, glancing over to the photo, "My Aunt bought her for me because she knew how much I had wanted a dog. I called her Octo for the Latin number eight. I know it doesn't sound like a girl's name but I thought it was appropriate. She was my first real friend".

Sherlock moved on to the next photo of a group of girls in there very early twenties or late teens, all dressed in bright coloured party dresses and toasting the camera with glasses of champion. Standing in the middle was a pretty girl, dyed black hair with streaks of red through it, heavy eye makeup and wearing a bright red dress with glow sticks as bracelets around her wrist.

"I didn't take you as the type to be a Goth," Sherlock remarked.

Amelia laughed, "I wasn't a Goth…I just went through a bit of a rebel stage. Staying out late at night to clubs, dying my hair black and putting red, blue, purple, any colour I could get in it. By the time I turned twenty, I got over all of that and had moved on to trying to work out what I wanted to do with my life".

Amelia walked over to the box he was going through and pulled a picture of a small family out. Two young children, a boy and girl about five, both with dark hair and eyes, standing in front of a pretty women with dark brown hair, blue eyes beside her was a handsome man with brown hair and dark brown, almost black eyes, "This is one of my favourite pictures of my family," Amelia smiled, showing Sherlock.

Sherlock looked at it while Amelia went back to her box of books, something about the photo was annoying Sherlock, something not quite right but he shrugged it off as nothing.

"How many years were you engaged?" Sherlock suddenly asked after a few minutes of silence between them, Amelia dropped the stack of books she was holding and stared at him.

"How…how do you know that?" she asked, her mouth suddenly very dry.

Sherlock smirked, holding a photo of a handsome, blond haired man with his arms around a slightly younger Amelia who was wearing a diamond engagement ring.

"We weren't engaged," Amelia said painfully, looking away from Sherlock, "We were married. One year exactly. He…" she sniffed and wiped her cheek, "He died on our one year wedding anniversary".

Sherlock blinked, it wasn't very often that he was court of guard about something as simple as this. Not knowing what to do, he waited until Amelia continued.

"We met when I was investigating a case," she smiled sadly, "I've always had a rule that I didn't get involved with family members or people connected to a case but he…he not only chucked my rule book out the window, he burnt and stomped on it too. After I solved the case he asked me out but I said no and so he continued to ask me until I said yes. But that was Tom, never giving up," she shook her head, quickly wiped her eyes, "Car accident. Drunk driver. The drunk died straight away but Tom…he was put on life-support. His family and I stayed with him for two days before turning it off. That was two years ago. In fact, it was the very same night that I meet Lestrade".

Amelia stared off into space before shaking her head, fixing a bright smile to her face and turned back to Sherlock, "You said you wanted tea bags? What type?"

"Any," he replied, following her into the kitchen, "Five will do".

"I still don't understand why you needed them at this time of night," Amelia said, opening one of the cupboards and pulling a tin out, fishing five tea bags out.

"It's an experiment," Sherlock replied.

"Oh, I won't ask. I'm afraid to know the answer".

Sherlock smirked again, thinking off how amusing it would be to tell her but deciding not to in case she told Mrs Hudson on him, taking the tea bags from her and heading back into the living room where she started picking the books she had dropped back up, placing them along a wood bookcase from A to Z order.

"Goodnight, Sherlock," Amelia smiled at him from where she was arranging the books, "Please don't flood your flat with tea bags and a toilet, I would hate for you and John to get in trouble off Mrs Hudson. No to mention for you to flood my own flat".

Sherlock frowned, "I don't know…"

"Yes, you do," she cut in, "I did it once myself to a school teacher who didn't like me very much. No one ever knew it was me but it's a little different when there's only four suspects and two of them wouldn't do it, one of them would have no reason to which points to you, Mr Holmes".

Grumbling under his breath, Sherlock left, closing the door behind him while Amelia laughed at his annoyed look. Never underestimate a women.

_**I'm so sorry for not updating sooner but the start of this year has been really bad for me. I won't go into detail but someone very close to me died. Anyway, a little bit more on Amelia's past and more of that will be revealed as we go along, possibly a few flashbacks. I will try to update as soon as I can but I can't make any promises as to when that will be, hopefully sooner than this time. I hope you liked it, tell me what you thought, please review :)**_


	5. Chapter 5 The Blind Banker part 1

_**The Blind Banker part 1.**_

Amelia was standing at her kitchen table, arranging a vase of flowers when she heard the sound of someone fighting next door. John has left to go shopping ten minutes earlier and Sherlock was expecting a client, surly even he wouldn't get into an argument with his own client?

What was she thinking? Of course he would.

Shaking her head, she quickly grabbed her hand bag and jacket, rushing over to the door between her flat and 221B, hurrying into the living room to find Sherlock in the middle of hand-to-hand combat with another man dressed in a turban that covered his face, wearing a traditional battle garb of a Sikh worrier, wilding a sword at Sherlock.

Amelia rushed forward as the warrior lunged at Sherlock and tripped him, giving Sherlock the opportunity to punch the man, knocking him out as he collapsed into a chair behind him.

Sherlock sniffed, looking at himself in the mirror above the fireplace as Amelia smoothed her royal blue, peplum dress down, giving Sherlock a smile, "What would you do without me, Sherlock dear?"

Sherlock gave her annoyed look, "I had everything under my control".

"Yep," Amelia nodded, rolling her eyes, "And that's why you're not annoyed with me".

Sherlock glared at her, glancing at her outfit of Christian Louboutin patent-leather heels that ware radicles high, red nail polish, red lipstick, very little eyeliner, hair up in its usual bun, and the jewellery, "Feeling homesick? New shoes, dress, jacket…"

"Can't a girl buy a new outfit for no reason, Sherlock?"

"Not when you already have similar items in your wardrobe".

"I'm not homesick," Amelia argued before smiling, moving passed Sherlock, "I just love cloths and when I saw this dress I couldn't pass it. Besides, you're changing the subject, so I saved you from getting yourself hurt, so what?" she shrugged before poking her head around the kitchen door, "And by the way, stay out of my bedroom when I'm not around. We wouldn't want anyone to get ideas".

Sherlock stared after her at what she was implying before chasing after her, shouting something about women to which she simply laughed.

….

Five minutes later, John returned to fine Sherlock sitting his chair, reading a book while Amelia sat opposite him, checking her emails on her phone. No sign of there ever being a fight.

"You took your time," Sherlock remarked, not looking away from his book as Amelia glanced up from her phone, noting the lack of groceries.

"Er…I didn't get the shopping," John admitted, sighing.

"What?" Sherlock frowned, looking up from his book, "Why not?"

"Are you alright, John?" Amelia asked, looking at his slightly flushed face.

"Yeah, fine," John tried to wave it off, "I had a row in the shop," Sherlock raised his eyebrows while Amelia gave him a concerned look, "With the chip and pin machine".

Sherlock blinked, looking confused as Amelia started giggling, "You had a row…with a machine?" Sherlock questioned.

"Well, sort of," John muttered as Amelia tried to stop herself from laughing, "It sat there and I shouted abuse. Have you got any cash?"

Amelia started reaching for her bag but John stopped her, "No, Amelia, you've already taken us out for dinner four times this week. We'll pay".

"I really don't mind…" Amelia tried but John shook his head.

"Sherlock?"

"Take my card," he nodded towards the kitchen table.

John walked over to the table, pulling the card out of Sherlock's wallet, "You could go yourself, you know. You've been sitting there all morning," he glanced at Sherlock, "You haven't moved since I went out. Only deference is Amelia being here. What happened about that case you were offered? The Jaria Diamond…"

Sherlock and Amelia exchanged a quick glance, "Not interested," Sherlock replied, glancing down as he spotted the Sikh's sword under his chair, "We sent them a massage," he kicked the blade out of sight under the chair.

John sighed as he noticed the scuff marks on the table, giving Sherlock a look before heading back out. Sherlock and Amelia waited until John had closed the front door, bursting out laughing at how easy it had been to fool poor John.

….

Twenty minutes later, John finely arrived back at the flat, carrying bags of groceries. He walked in to the living room, saying pointedly to Sherlock, "Don't worry about me, I can manage".

Amelia quickly shut the book she was reading and grabbed a bag off John, helping him to put the rest on the kitchen table while Sherlock continued to stare at a computer screen.

"Thanks," John smiled gratefully at Amelia as she began unpacking the bags.

"Don't worry about it," She shrugged, opening the fringe, pushing a jar of eyeballs out of the way so she could fit the milk in, "The book I was reading was boring anyway, I was about to try and find another one".

John nodded, turning around but stopped when he looked at Sherlock, "Is that my computer?"

"Of course," Sherlock replied, typing something without looking up.

"Sorry, John," Amelia sighed, "I only left the room for five minutes and when I came back he had it. He refused to give it back even when I threated to call his brother".

"Mines in the bedroom," Sherlock shrugged, scoffing at Amelia, "You think I'm afraid of my brother?"

"Of course not," Amelia shook her head, walking back into the living room, leaning against the door, "I wasn't really going to call him, I just thought you might get fed up with my nagging and come to the conclusion that it wasn't worth it".

"If yours is in your bedroom," John frowned, "Why couldn't you get your own?" he shook his head, "Its password protected!"

"In a manner of speaking," Sherlock shrugged, "Took me less than a minute to guess yours. Not exactly Fort Knox. Unlike Amelia's".

"That'll teach you," Amelia smirked as Sherlock went back to typing.

"Right, thank you," John sighed, closing the lid and grabbing his laptop, putting it down beside his chair while he sat.

Sherlock didn't say anything, simply brought his hands together under his chin and began thinking about something. Amelia cast him a curious look.

John began going through a stack of overdue bills sitting on a small table beside him, sighing, "I need to get a job".

"Oh, dull," Sherlock remarked.

Amelia shook her head, "Not everyone is as lucky as you, Sherlock".

"Boring".

No one said anything after that for a moment, John leaned forward in his chair, looking at Sherlock, "Listen, um…if you'd be able to lend me some…Sherlock, are you listening?"

"I need to go to the bank," Sherlock suddenly said, standing and walking out of the flat without replying to John.

Amelia sighed, pulling her coat on and following after Sherlock, John just behind her.

….

Sherlock, Amelia, and John made their way inside the Shad Sanderson, an investment bank. The place was filled with high-tech equipment, glass lifts, men and women all walking around in expansive suits.

"When you say we were going to the bank…" John started as they stepped on to a lift, but Sherlock merely passed him and Amelia, making his way to an office, leaving Amelia to shrug in response to John's questioning look before following Sherlock.

They made their way to an office door that read 'Sebastian Wilkes, Director of the Trading Floor'.

"Sherlock Holmes!" Sebastian smiled, walking over to Sherlock when he saw him standing in the doorway, shaking his hand.

"Sebastian," Sherlock greeted, eying the man.

"How are you, buddy?" Sebastian smiled, "How long's it been? Eight years since I last clapped eyes on you?"

"This is my friend, John Watson," Sherlock introduced, "And this is my business partner, Amelia…"

"No, it can't be…little Amelia Wilson," Sebastian's eyes lit up as Amelia moved forward, Amelia smiled back and gave him a quick hug.

"Hello, Seb," Amelia smiled, pulling back but Sebastian still kept his arm around her waist, "Long time, no see".

"And still as beautiful as ever," Sebastian remarked, Amelia rolled her eyes, "Still signal?"

Amelia's smile faulted for a moment, "Oh, you know me, Seb, I'm not really the marrying type and before you ask, no, I will not got on a date with you".

He sighed, "One day you will".

Sherlock cleared his throat, making them both look at him and John, "You know each other, obviously".

"I was friends with his sister," Amelia explained, "How is Mary, anyway?"

"Good. She just got married to some artist. Mother disapproved".

"Oh, I bet," Amelia muttered, stepping away from Sebastian, "Anyway, we didn't come here to talk about old times, did we Sherlock?"

Sebastian shook John's hand, speaking before Sherlock could answer, "When you say _friend_…"

"Colleague," John quickly corrected, shacking Sebastian's hand.

Sebastian nodding, gesturing to three chairs, "Grab a pew," he walked around his desk and sat behind it as his assistant appeared in the doorway, "Need anything?" he asked them, "Coffee? Water? No?" he looked back to his assistant, "We're all sorted, here thanks".

"You're doing well," Sherlock remarked, taking a sit beside Amelia, "Spending time abroad".

"Well, some…" Sebastian shrugged.

"Flying all the way around the world," Amelia added, "Twice a month!"

Sebastian laughed, "You're doing that thing again. Both of you," he looked at John, "Sherlock and I were at Uni together, and this guy, both of them, had this trick they used to do…"

"It's not a trick," Sherlock and Amelia frowned.

"They could look at you and tell your whole life story," Sebastian continued, ignoring Sherlock and Amelia.

"Yes, I've seen them do it," John nodded, glancing at them.

"Put the wind up everyone. We hated him," Amelia gave Sebastian a disported look, sighing, "You'd come to breakfast in the formal hall and this freak," he nodded to Sherlock, "He would know you'd been shagging the previous night".

"I simply observed," Sherlock defended his self.

"Sebastian," Amelia frowned, "You promised that you would never call another person something like that after I told you about those two girls who bashed me, putting me in to hospital".

"You were put in hospital by two girls?" John asked, frowning.

"I only made an innocent comment about her boyfriend cheating one her," Amelia sighed, "Next thing I know I'm waking up in a hospital bed. I was only twelve at the time. I suppose that some good did come of it, I learnt to keep my observations to myself," She smiled, "Most of the time".

Sebastian coughed uncomfortably, shifting slightly, turning to Sherlock, "Go on. Enlighten me. 'Two trips a month, flying all round the world'. You're quite right. But how could you tell?" both Sherlock and Amelia opened their mouths but Sebastian continued, "You're going to tell me there was a stain on my tie from a special kind of ketchup you can only buy in Manhattan?"

"No, I…"

"Seems unlikely as that's a new tie," Amelia remarked quietly to John.

"Or maybe it's the mud on my shoes…" Sebastian continued but Sherlock cut in.

"I was chatting with your secretary outside. She told me".

Sebastian started laughing, clapping his hands together, "I'm glad you could make it over. We've had a break in," he stood and started leading them across the trading floor, over to a darkened office in the corner with glass at the front, explaining to them as they walked, "Sir William's office. The banks former chairmen. His room has been left here, like a sort of memorial. Someone broke in here late last night".

"What did they steal?" John asked.

"Nothing. They just left a little message," he flashed his card at a scanner beside the door and stepped inside, switching the lights on to show the office. There was a lamp, pens, an a old leather-top desk and behind that, hanging on the wall was a painting of a man, Sir William Shad with a plague underneath giving his birth and death dates.

The message that had been left behind was yellow spray paint, lines sprayed across the portraits eyes that had dripped halfway down Sir Williams face. On the other side was another symbol, a tag of some sort, illegible scrawled.

Sherlock focused on the painting but Amelia turned to Sebastian after giving it a quick glance, "There's more, isn't there? You wouldn't have called us for something like this; you would have called the police or dealt with it yourself. What haven't you showed us yet?"

Sebastian smirked, casting a glance at Sherlock who was fighting the urge to look impressed, "Still the same old, Amelia. You're right, follow me," he led them back to his office, switching one of his computer screens on and showed them the security footage, "Sixty seconds apart," he explained, showing them footage of a clean, paint free office to another picture of the office as it was now, "So someone came up here in the middle of the night, splashed paint around and left within a minute".

"How many ways into that office?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, that's where this gets really interesting," Sebastian led them back down to the front desk and showed them the security plane for the building, "Every door that opens in this bank, it gets logged right here. Every walk-in cupboard. Every toilet".

"That door didn't open last night?" Amelia said.

Sebastian shook his head, sighing, "There's a hole in our security. Find it and we'll pay you. Five figures," he pulled a check out of his pocket, Amelia covered her smile when she noticed John's eyes widen, on the other hand, Sherlock seemed less than impressed by it, "This is only an advance. Tell me how he got in, there's a bigger one on its way".

"I don't need an incentive," Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Come along, Amelia," he grabbed the sleave of her jacket and pulled her back to Sir William's office but not before Amelia heard John say that you would look after the check for Sherlock, making her laugh, "What?"

"Oh, nothing," she smiled innocently.

When they reached the scene of the crime, Sherlock pulled his phone out and started taking photos of the office while Amelia ducked behind the desk and started going through it only to find it empty.

"You know, these symbols reminded me of something," Amelia remarked, standing up and looking at the wall, "Maybe Chines? It's hard to tell".

"Hmm," Sherlock hummed, not really listening as he looked at the window and opened it, stepping onto the very small, private balcony without any safety rails to prevent someone from falling straight down.

"Sherlock," Amelia groaned, following after him, "I'm all for taking in the sights but there is a time and place".

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Don't make jokes, Amelia, you know perfectly well what I'm doing".

"You think that whoever did this used the window to gain accuses," she said, glancing down, big mistake, "Oh, we're…we're very high, aren't we?" she said after a moment in a slightly strained voices.

Sherlock glanced at her and smirked, "Afraid of heights?"

"No, I'm afraid of plummeting to my death," Amelia corrected, closing her eyes as she began to feel light headed, "Have been ever scenas my idiot brother pushed me out of a tree we were climbing when we were six's. I broke my arm in two places".

Sherlock sighed, realising that if he wanted to get off the balcony anytime soon he would have to help her. He took her hand and unclenched it, making her open her eyes in surprise and blink at him, "Deep breaths and focus on me. Take one step to your left and one step back. Do not look down".

Amelia nodded, gripping tightly to his hand as she focused on his face and slowly took a step to the side and one step back, stepping back into the office. Sherlock followed, closing the door behind him as Amelia quickly let go of his hand, smoothing a piece of lose hair back.

"Um, thank you," she blushed, looking anywhere other than Sherlock.

"Anymore fears I should know about?"

"Well, I hate spiders. Can't stand to look at them. Personally I think it's the way they move".

"Mycroft's scared of spiders," Sherlock remarked, making Amelia laugh to the point of almost being in tears.

"Your brother, Mycroft Holmes, is afraid of spiders?" she laughed as Sherlock joined in.

"Terrified of them," Sherlock nodded, laughing, "Mummy wasn't very happy when I put a fake one of his should a few Christmases ago. Mycroft was holding the turkey at the time".

They continued laugh for a moment before Sherlock cleared his throat, Amelia quickly followed suit as he walked out of the office and started looking around. He started dodging and weaving around the trading floor, trying to find a place that he could see the graffiti perfectly while Amelia stood off the side, filming everything Sherlock did with her phone. He moved into an office that read, 'Hong Kong Desk Head,' were the walls were all glass. Amelia followed him, still filming as he turned and was able to see the graffiti perfectly from there.

Sherlock smirked as Amelia stopped filming and he moved over to the office door, taking the name plaque off the door, slipping it in his pocket, "Oh, John and Lestrade are going to love this," Amelia smiled, looking down at her phone as they began walking, "'The amazing dancing detective, Sherlock Holmes!' I can see it all now. Maybe I should put it on YouTube. Who knows, you might become an internet hit over night".

Sherlock rolled his eyes but couldn't stop the amused look on his face as John walked over to them, "'Two trips around the world this month,'" John mimicked Sherlock and Amelia as they went down on the lift, "You didn't ask his secretary. You said that just to irritate him," Sherlock smirked and Amelia coughed innocently, "How did you…"

"Did you look at his watch?" Sherlock asked.

"His watch?" John frowned.

"The time was right," Amelia explained, "But the date was wrong. It said two days ago".

"He crossed the date line twice but he didn't alter it," Sherlock added.

"Within the month?" John asked, "How did you know that?"

"New breitling," Amelia shrugged, "It only came out this February".

John nodded, understanding it a little better now, "You think we should sniff around here a bit longer?"

"Got everything I need to know already, thanks," Sherlock replied, walking out of the bank and along the street, "That graffiti is a message, John. For someone at the bank, working on the trading floor. We find the intended recipient and…"

"He'll lead us to the person who sent it," John realized.

"Obvious".

"Sherlock," Amelia shook her head, "Good job, John".

"Thanks," John smiled before frowning at Sherlock, "300 people up there. Who was it meant for?"

"Pillars".

"What?" John frowned.

"The pillars," Sherlock explained, "And the screens. Very few places where you could see the graffiti. That narrows the field considerably. And of course, the message was left at 11:34 last night. That tells us a lot".

"Does it?" John questioned.

"Traders come to work at all hours. Some people trade with Hong Kong in the middle of the night. That message was intended for someone who came in at midnight," he pulled the paper name plaque out of his pocket and showed it to John and Amelia, "Not many Van Coon's in the phone book," before shouting, "Taxi!"

….

Ten minutes later they arrived at a tall building were Edward Van Coon's flat was, Sherlock pressed the buzzer but no one answered.

"So what do we do now?" John sighed, "Sit here and wait for him to come back?"

Amelia pointed above Van Coon's buzzer to another buzzer, "Just moved in. see, John?"

"What?"

"The floor above, Mr Van Coon's," Amelia said, "It's a new label".

"Could have replaced it," John shrugged.

"No one does that," Sherlock said, pressing the buzzer of Mrs Wintl's.

"Hello?" a women's voice asked a moment later.

"Hi, er…" Sherlock started, Amelia had to cover her laughter at how un-Sherlock, Sherlock could make himself, "I live in the flat below you. I…I don't think we've met".

"No, actually I just moved in".

Sherlock gave John a pointed look, "Actually, I just locked my keys in my flat".

"You want me to buzz you in?"

"Yeah," Sherlock nodded, "And, uh, can I use your balcony?"

"What?"

….

Sherlock climbed over Mrs Wintl's balcony, landing a moment later in Van Coon's terrace below. Amelia slipped her heels off, not wanting to break her ankle or break the heel off when she landed, chucking them on the terrace before dropping down herself. Sherlock raised his eyebrows as he watched her land surprisingly graceful in a dress.

"What?" Amelia asked, slipping her heels back on, "My mother made me do ballet for five years".

Sherlock shrugged and opened the glass door, leading into the flat. They walked around the living room, taking in everything as Sherlock moved into the kitchen, opening the fridge to show dozens of champagne bottles stacked on top of one another. Amelia shook her head with a faint smile on her face as John began knocking on the door.

"Sherlock? Amelia? Are you okay? Any time you feel like letting me in?"

Amelia glanced at Sherlock who tried to open a door but found it locked. He stepped back and using his shoulder, forced the door open, walking in and stopping at the sight of a man, lying on his back, shot in the head.

"Brilliant," Amelia sighed.

_**I hope you liked it, sorry about the wait but I've been sick for the past two weeks and I'm still sick tell me what you thought, please review :)**_


	6. Chapter 6 The Blind Banker part 2

"Do you think you lost a lot of money?" John asked, glancing at Sherlock and Amelia as they watched the police take photographs of the body, "Suicide rate is pretty high amongst these city types".

"We don't know that it was suicide," Sherlock said, pulling a pair of rubber gloves on.

"Come on! His door locked from the inside. You had to climb across the balcony…"

Sherlock didn't answer, spotting a suitcase sitting on the floor and began going through it while Amelia watched over his shoulder, "Been away. Three days, judging by the laundry. Look, something was packed tightly inside this case".

"Oh, yeah," Amelia nodded, "I see what you mean".

"Thanks," John nodded, looking unhappy, "I'll take your word for it".

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at him, "Problem?"

"I'm not desperate to root around some bloke's dirty underwear".

"I'm sure you've been through worse," Amelia smiled slightly, adding, "Dr Watson".

Sherlock ignored them, turning back to the body, "Those symbols at the bank, that graffiti. Why was it put there?"

John sighed, "You think it was some sort of code?"

"Obviously," Sherlock replied, going through Van Coon's pockets, "But I'm saying why paint it? If you want to communicate, why not use email?"

John paused for a moment, thinking it over, "Well, maybe he wasn't answering?"

"Oh good," Sherlock remarked, smirking slightly, "You follow".

John shook his head, glancing at Amelia, "Um, nope".

"Just nod and smile, John," Amelia advised, half serious.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, leaning over to examine the man's hand, "What sort of message would everyone try to avoid?" John opened his mouth before shaking his head.

"Think about it, John," Amelia said softly, walking around him to look closer at Van Coons face, "Something that can make people do drastic things, something that can make people want to disappear," John shook his head, still looking confused as she looked at Sherlock, "Sherlock, have look inside his mouth, I think I can see something".

Sherlock did as she asked, pulling a small ball of black paper, shaped like a flower, still slightly moist, "He was being threatened," John's face cleared as he realised what Amelia had been trying to tell him. Sherlock grabbed a plastic evidence bag and slipped the paper inside.

They glanced up as they heard voices approaching as a man in his early thirties walk in, looking around, frowning as he spotted Sherlock, John, and Amelia.

"Ah, Sergeant," Sherlock straightened and held out his hand as he walked over to the new man, "We haven't met".

"Yeah, I know who you are," the man glared at Sherlock, ignoring his outstretched hand, shooting Amelia a slightly cold look, making her blink in surprise, "Both of you. And I'd prefer it if you didn't tamper with any of the evidence".

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, handing the man the evidence bag, "I phoned Lestrade. Is he on his way…?"

"He's busy," the man informed them, "I'm in charge. And it's not Sergeant, it's Detective Inspector," Amelia glanced at John, both looking slightly surprised, "Dimmock," Sherlock stared at him, glancing at Amelia and John before following after Dimmock as he walked into the living room, "We're obviously looking at a suicide".

"It does seem the only explanation of the facts," John agreed, Amelia shook her head.

"Sorry, John," she said, "You're wrong".

"It's one possible explanation of some of the facts," Sherlock nodded, turning to Dimmock, "You've got a solution that you like…but you're just choosing to ignore anything you see that doesn't comply with it".

Dimmock looked at him, raising his eyebrows, "Like?"

"The wound on the side of his head," Amelia said, moving forward.

"And?" Dimmock asked, frowning.

"Van Coon was left-handed," Sherlock added, demonstrating shooting himself in his right temple with his left hand, "Requires a bit of contortion".

Dimmock blinked, looking taken back, "Left-handed?"

"I'm amazed you didn't notice," Sherlock rolled his eyes, "All you have to do is look around this flat…" he gestured around the room as he continued to explain, "…Coffee table on the left-hand side, coffee mug handle pointing to the left. Power sockets habitually used the ones on the left. Pen and paper on the left-hand side of the phone because he picked it up with his right and took down messages with his left…" he looked at Dimmock, "Want me to go on?"

"Er, no," John and Amelia quickly said, "I think you've covered it".

"I might as well," Sherlock shrugged, smirking, "There's only one…"

Amelia groaned and covered his mouth, "Basically, Van Coon couldn't have killed himself because he was indeed left handed. It's very unlikely that a left-handed man could shoot himself on the right side of his head. Conclusion…someone broke in and murdered him…and Sherlock please stop glaring at me like that. I think I can feel a burning sensation on the back of my head and I'm rather found of my hair".

"But the gun…" Dimmock began, shaking his head, Amelia quickly moved her hand and backed away, noticing the dangerously look in Sherlock's eye.

Sherlock continued to glare at her as he spoke, "He was waiting for the killer. He'd been threatened".

"What?"

Sherlock walked away, pulling his coat and scarf back on.

"Today at the bank," John spoke up, "A sort of warning".

"He fired when the attacker came in," Amelia told him.

"And the bullet…"

"Went out the window," Sherlock said simply.

"Oh, come on!" Dimmock laughed, shaking his head, "What are the chances of that?"

Sherlock started putting his gloves on, "Wait for the pathologist's report. The bullet in his brain wasn't fired from his gun, I guarantee it".

"But if his door was locked from the inside…how did the killer get in?"

"Good," Sherlock nodded, "You're finally asking the right questions," and with that, he turned and swept out of the room, grabbing Amelia's arm and pulling her along with him, leaving John to hurry after them.

…

After they left Van Coons flat, they got a cab and went to a high class restaurant, walking inside to find Sebastian sitting at a table with some of his work collages, in the middle of telling a joke as they approached him.

"It was a threat," Sherlock told them, getting straight to the point, "That's what the graffiti meant".

"I'm kind of in a meeting," Sebastian said, giving Sherlock an odd look, "Can you make an appointment with my secretary?"

"No," Amelia crossed her arms, "This is far more important than your…'meeting,' I believe you called it. We just came from a crime scene were one of your traders was the victim. He was found dead by myself and Sherlock here this morning".

"What?" Sebastian's eyes winded.

"Van Coon," John clarified, "The police are in his flat".

"Killed?" Sebastian blinked, looking extremely surprised.

"Sorry to interfere with everyone's digestion," Sherlock remarked, not sorry at all, "Still want us to make an appointment?" he slowly smirked, "Would maybe nine o'clock at Scotland Yard suit?"

Sebastian shifted in his chair before throwing his napkin down, quickly apologising to everyone as he stood and gestured for Sherlock and John to follow him into the bathroom, leaving Amelia to wait outside.

She leaned as casually as she could against the wall, ignoring the strange looks people were sending her as they passed when her phone started ringing. She looked down and groaned to see Mycroft's name flashing on the screen.

"Hello, Mycroft," she answered, "What can I do for you? And before you ask, no, I will not give you any information about your brother".

"I was actually calling to ask whether you intended to spend the rest of your afternoon standing outside the men's bathroom," Mycroft replied, sounding slightly amused, "Surly it would be less embarrassing for you to simply sit at a table?"

"How…" Amelia frowned, trailing off as her eyes court sight of none other than Mycroft Holmes sitting at a table in the far corner of the room, "What on Earth are you doing here?"

"Eating my lunch," Mycroft replied before flicking his phone shut and gesturing for her to join him, which she did after a short amount of time weaving between tables.

"I should have known this would be the type of restaurant you would dine in," Amelia sighed, taking the remaining seat, eyeing his food, "I thought you were on a diet?"

"One is allowed some treats," Mycroft said a little stiffly, Amelia raised her eyebrows, smiling slightly, "May I ask what you and my brother are doing here? Along with Dr Watson?"

"Were on a case," Amelia shrugged, casting a glance toward the men's bathroom door to see if they had emerged, "An old acquaintance of Sherlock and I hired us".

"Yes, of course," he nodded, lifting his glasses of wind before pausing, smiling faintly, "Forgive my manners, would you care for some?"

"I don't drink while I'm working," Amelia shook her head, "But thank you. Shouldn't you be out trying to stop a war or something, not sitting here chatting to me, Mycroft?"

Mycroft sighed, taking a sip of his wine before placing it back on the table, "You've been spending too much time around my brother. I do have a life outside of my work".

"And I'm sure it's very thrilling," Amelia smirked, glancing up to see Sebastian leaving the bathroom, "Well, that's my cue. See you around, Mycroft Holmes".

"Good day to you, Miss Wilson," Mycroft nodded as she quickly hurried back towards the bathroom just as Sherlock and John came out.

"So, did he tell you anything of any value?" she asked casually as they began walking out side.

"Van Coon worked with the Hong Kong accounts," Sherlock told her as John got them a taxi and they got in the back, "He also worked in Asia for a while. He went to Oxford and according to Sebastian, he was clever…"

"I like how you put according in there, Sherlock," Amelia remarked, giving his a sideways look while Sherlock stared outside his window, "So, Van Coon worked in Asia," she looked thoughtful for a moment, "Is it possible that he got mixed up in something over there? Drug smuggling? Maybe even people smuggling? It wouldn't be a first time".

"Possibly…" Sherlock replied, not really listening to anything she said as he stared outside, deep in thought.

Sighing, Amelia turned to John and they began discussing John's planes to look for a job the next day while Sherlock continued to think.

…

The next day after a relatively sleepless night of Sherlock playing his violin until 3 o'clock, by which time both Amelia and John were ready to comminute murder themselves, Amelia was sitting in Sherlock's and John's flat, fiddling around with her laptop as Sherlock asked something about a pen.

"Excuse me?" Amelia frowned, looking up just as John walked in.

Sherlock was sitting in front of the fireplace, staring up at the wall in front of him with different pictures that he had taken the day before at the crime scene, his hands entwined under his chin, "I asked John to pass me a pen," he replied, not looking away.

"When?" she blinked, not realising that she had zoned out so much.

"About an hour ago," Sherlock shrugged, "Where is he?"

"Right here," John sighed, picking up a pen from a table and chucking it at him, "Didn't notice I went out, then," he walked over to the wall and looked closely at the pictures, "I went to see about a job at that surgery".

"How did it go?" Amelia asked, closing her laptop and setting it aside. Today she was dressed in a pair of black jeans, black wedge sneakers, a sleeveless florally printed blouse, and a black leather trimmed collar blazer. Her hair was up in a French braided, side pony tail, black nail polish, and she had a small pair of diamonded studs in her ears.

"Great," John nodded, looking at himself in the mirror, "She's great".

"Who?" Amelia raised her eyebrows, smirking slightly at his little slip.

John turned around and blushed, trying to cover his mistake, "The job".

"She?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

"It," John tried again.

"I'm sure that's what you _meant_ to say," Amelia smiled, "But that _wasn't_ necessarily what you ended up saying, was it?"

Sherlock frowned at him for a moment before inclining his head toward John's open laptop on the desk, "Here, have a look".

John walked around and frowned as he read the title of the website, "'The intruder who can walk through walls?'"

"It happened last night," Amelia explained, standing up and looking over John's shoulder, "A journalist was shot dead in his flat".

"Doors locked," Sherlock added, "Windows bolted from the inside. Exactly the same as Van Coon".

"God, you think…" John breathed, looking at Sherlock and Amelia.

"He's killed another," Sherlock cut him off, after a moment or so, he jumped out of his chair and was pulling on his coat before rushing outside to grab a cab, John and Amelia quickly following.

…

It wasn't long before they were standing in front of Dimmock's desk in the middle of Scotland Yard, "Brian Lukis," Sherlock said, typing something into a laptop, "Journalist. Freelance. Murdered in his flat," he spun the laptop to show the article, "The door locked from the inside".

"You've got to admit, it's similar," John said as Amelia stood beside him, "Both men killed by someone who can walk through solid walls".

"Inspector," Sherlock said, making Dimmock glance at him, "Do you seriously believe that Eddie Van Coon was just another city suicide?" Dimmock shifted in his chair

Amelia sighed, moving forward, "You have taken a look at the ballistic report, I assume?" Dimmock nodded, "And the shot that killed him was it fired from his own gun?"

"No," Dimmock admitted, sighing.

"No," Sherlock nodded, "So, this investigation might more a little quicker if you were to take my word as gospel," Amelia raised her eyebrows but didn't comment as Sherlock leaned closer to Dimmock, "I've just handed you a murder inquiry. Five minutes in his flat".

Dimmock thought about, swallowing as he slowly nodded, "Alright".

…

Sherlock, Amelia, and John walked inside Brian Lukas's flat, stepping under the police tap, moving around stakes of books sitting in piles on the stairs, all with a thin layer of dust on them, "Something tells me that Mr Lukis enjoyed a good read," Amelia remarked, stepping inside the living room that wasn't any different from the stairs.

"Whatever gave you that idea?" Sherlock rolled his eyes, looking around the room before moving toward the window, lifting the curtain aside to see out, "Fourth floor…" Amelia nodded before her eye court sight of another black, origami flower lying on the floor; she quickly picked it up and showed it to Dimmock.

"That's why they think they're safe," Amelia realised as Sherlock nodded, "They put the chain on the door, bolt it shut. They think they're…"

"Impregnable," Sherlock finished, ignoring the odd look Amelia gave him, "They don't reckon for one second that there's another way in".

He turned and began walking back onto the landing, "I don't understand," Dimmcok shook his head, following after Sherlock as he opened the skylight, "What are you doing?"

"We're dealing with a killer who can climb," Sherlock replied, looking through the skylight.

"Oh, I get it," Amelia's eyes winded as she walked over and looked through the skylight herself, "He climbs the walls like…like an insect. That's how he gets in".

"What?" Dimmock blinked.

"At least someone's listening," Sherlock rolled his eyes at Dimmock, nodding at Amelia, "He climbed up the side of the walls, ran along the roof, dropped in through this skylight".

"You're not serious?" Dimmock stared at him, "Like Spider-Man?"

Sherlock turned around and looked at Dimmock, "He scaled six floors of a Dorklands apartment building, and jumped the balcony to kill Van Coon".

"Hold on…"

"And, of course, that's how he got into the bank," Sherlock continued, "He ran along the window ledge and onto the terrace," he stepped away from the window, "We have to find out what connects these two men," he walked down the stairs, looking at the books before grabbing one and flicking it open, reading something, "Come on, John, Amelia!"

"Where are we going now?" Amelia asked, rushing after him with John, waiting for a taxi.

"West Kensington Library," Sherlock replied as they lapsed into silence as they drove toward the library.

….

When they arrived at the library they ran up the escalators and had the book that Sherlock had stolen from Laukis collection and scanned it.

"The date in the book is the same date of the day he died…" Sherlock muttered mostly to himself as he walked through aisles of book shelves before pausing to look at some of the books, John and Amelia following behind him.

Amelia looked around the shelf before frowning as she saw something yellow, turning around she started shifting a few books out of the way, "Sherlock, John," she looked over her shoulder to glance at them, "Come have a look at this".

Sherlock and John turned around to see another yellow, spray painted symbol on the shelf, just like the one from the bank.

"I think we've just found a connection, gentlemen," Amelia remarked, eyeing the symbol.

….

"So, the killer goes to the bank," Sherlock said as they stood in front of the mirror back at Baker Street, looking at the pictures and articles that they had collected and stuck to the wall above the fireplace, "Leaves a threatening cipher for Van Coon…"

"Van Coon panics," Amelia cut him off, looking thoughtfully at the pictures, "He returns to his flat, lock's himself in. A couple of hours later, he dies".

"The killer finds Lukis at the library," John continued, frowning, "He writes the cipher on the shelf where he knows it'll been seen. Lukis goes home".

"Later that night he dies, too," Amelia sighed.

John looked at Sherlock and Amelia, "Why did they die?"

Sherlock touched on of the pictures as Amelia shrugged, "Only the cipher tell us," he glanced at them before heading back down stairs toward the street, calling over his shoulder, "Come on".

….

"The world runs on codes and ciphers, John, Amelia," Sherlock explained as they stepped out of a cab and walked by a large fountain, people and cars passing them by without a second glance, "From the million pound security system at the bank to the pin machine you took exception to, John. Cryptography inhabits our every waking moment".

"Yes, okay," John nodded, following along, "But…"

"But it's computer generated," Amelia cut in, eyeing the cloudy sky slightly as she wished she had thought to wear a wormer coat, "Electronic codes, electronic ciphering methods…but this is different".

"It's an ancient device," Sherlock added as they began to climb the stone stairs toward the museum, "Modern code-breaking methods won't unravel it".

"Where are we headed?" John questioned, looking at Sherlock.

"I need to ask for some advice," Sherlock sighed, pointedly ignoring the delighted looks that appeared on John and Amelia's faces.

"What?" John blinked, slowly smiling, "Sorry?"

"We didn't quit catch that, Sherlock Holmes," Amelia added, taking her phone from her pocket and holding it up like a microphone to Sherlock to speak into, "Care to repeat it for us?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and batted her hand away, "You heard me perfectly. I'm not saying it again".

"_You_ need advice," John grinned broadly, glancing at Amelia who was also finding it hard to stop smiling.

"On a painting, yes," Sherlock sighed, sounding as if he deeply regrated saying anything at all, "I need to talk to an expert".

"My parents used to drag my brother and I all over museums when we were kids," Amelia remarked as Sherlock led them around the side of the museum, into an alleyway, "My mother adored French art work, she used to spend three months a year in Paris," John gave her a curios look, "My mum was half French and we used to have an Uncle who lived in this massive chateau that had been in my mother's family for generations. The sad thing is, my family all have a habit of being killed tragically. My Uncle had a heart attack while swimming, my Auntie died falling from a balcony and so on".

"Oh…" John blinked, looking a little uncomfortable, "I'm sorry".

"Don't be," she shook her head, "I couldn't stand my Aunt, she was half my Uncles age and I never really got along with my Uncle. I think it had something to do with my brother…"

"Remained me again why you're telling us this?" Sherlock asked, sounding board as they rounded a corner.

"I suppose I did get a little side tracked," Amelia titled her head to side, shrugging, "I was just going to say that I had some knowledge about art, I'm certainly not an expect but I can tell an artist from another".

Sherlock smirked, "Not that type of art".

Amelia frowned, glancing at John who shrugged, looking just as confused as she but they didn't have much time to think about it because a moment later they came across a young man in his early twenties, spraying painting a pair of metal doors, "Part of my new exhibition," the man told them, smirking as he continued painting a police officer.

"Interesting," Sherlock remarked, reaching inside his coat pocket.

"I call it…'Urban Bloodlust Frenzy,'" the man smirked, laughing as Amelia raised her eyebrows, about to comment when John bet her to it.

"Catchy".

"I've got two minutes before a Community Support Officer comes around that corner," the man said, glancing at Sherlock, "Could we do this while I'm working?"

Sherlock held out his phone, the man chucked one of the spray cans at John, who court it and glanced at Amelia, looking slightly alarmed. The man took Sherlock's phone and started going through the photos.

"Know the author?" Sherlock asked.

"Recognise the paint," the man replied, shrugging, "Looks like Michigan, hard-core propellant. I'd say zinc".

"Do you recognise the symbols?" Amelia asked.

The man glanced at her, "Not even sure it's a proper language".

Sherlock sighed, "Two men have been murdered, Raz. Deciphering this key is the key to finding who killed them".

"What?" Raz raised his eyebrows, "And this is what you've got to go on? It's hardly much now, is it?"

"Are you gonna help us or not?" Sherlock demanded, beginning to lose his temper.

Raz looked at him for a moment before nodding, "I'll ask around".

"Somebody must know something about it".

"Oi!" they looked up to see a police officer running down the alley toward them.

Sherlock grabbed his phone from Raz before grabbing Amelia's hand, pulling her away before she could grab John's hand, leaving him alone in the alley, still holding a can of paint while Raz bolted.

When they had managed to get a cab and arrived back at Baker Street, Amelia almost collapsed onto the sofa, "I can't believe we just left him," she shook her head, closing her eyes as she leant her head back, "You do realise that he's going to be arrested for this?"

"He'll be fine," Sherlock waved her off, going back to staring at his wall.

Amelia cracked her eyes open and frowned at him, "You don't feel any concern? Maybe an ounce of guilt? Perhaps a bit of regret?"

"No, why should I?" Sherlock frowned, glancing at her.

"Because he's your friend, Sherlock," she sighed, "Friends look out for each other. You're supposed to care about what happens, not just drag them into something and leave them half way".

"I'm not his babysitter!"

"No, but you did ask him to help with this case," Amelia told him gently, "And if that's how you think, then why did you pull me away? You could have very easily left me behind but you didn't…why?"

Sherlock opened and closed his mouth but for once he didn't have a clue what to say.

…

It was another hour before John arrived, Sherlock had scene found a book on runes and there meanings while Amelia tried to look them up on the internet.

"You've been a while," Sherlock remarked, not looking up from his book, standing in front of the fireplace. Amelia's head shot up and she guilty shifted in her seat, eyeing John.

"Yeah, well, you know how it is…" John said tensely, "Custody sergeants don't really like to be hurried, do they?" Amelia winced, "Just formalities. Finger prints, a charge sheet. And I'll have to be in Magistrates Court on Tuesday…"

"Oh dear…" Amelia groaned.

"What?" Sherlock asked, not really listening.

"Me, Sherlock, in court on Tuesday," John snapped, Amelia winced again, casting Sherlock an annoyed look, "They're giving me an ASBO".

"Good," Sherlock muttered absentmindedly, still staring down at the book, "Fine".

"Sherlock, did you hear anything I said to you earlier?" Amelia asked, raising her eyebrows but like John, she was ignored.

"You want to tell your little pal he's welcome to go and own up," John continued to fume, "Anytime…"

"This symbol," Sherlock frowned, snapping the book shut, "I still can't place it," he turned away from his wall and chucked his book down, walking over to John and stopping him as he was half way through taking his jacket off, "No, I need you to go to the police station and ask about the journalist," he stared pushing him toward the door, gesturing for Amelia to follow, "His personal effects will have been impounded. Get a hold of his diary, or something that will tell us his movements…" he grabbed his jacket and pulled into on, pushing John down the stairs while Amelia followed.

"What about you and Amelia?" John asked as they stepped out onto the street, closing the door behind them.

"We'll go and see Van Coon's PA," Sherlock replied, pulling his gloves on as Amelia looked around the street, having an odd feeling that someone was watching them, "If we retrace their steps, somewhere they'll coincide," and with that, Sherlock turned and began walking down the street.

"Hey, wait for me, Sherlock!" Amelia called, waving goodbye to John as she hurried through the crowd of people, following the dark figure just up ahead, luckily it didn't take too long before she court up with him, "Yeah, thanks for just walking off on me like that, it really makes me feel loved".

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Don't make jokes, Amelia".

"Who said I was joking?" she asked, keeping a straight face before smiling, "Alright, I won't make any more jokes. Happy?"

"No," Sherlock replied, "You're talking too much. How did you ever solve a case?"

"Women can multitask," Amelia smirked, "Men can't".

Sherlock rolled his eyes ago as they continued on their way in silence, luckily, five minutes later they arrived at the bank and made their way up to were Van Coon's former secretary was sitting at her desk. She had blonde hair and was dressed in a suit.

"He flew back from Dalian Friday," she told them, checking her computer schedule as Sherlock and Amelia stood behind, "Looks like he had back-to-back meetings with the sales team".

"Can you print us off a copy, please?" Amelia asked.

The blonde women looked at them, nodding, "Sure".

"What about the say he died?" Sherlock questioned, pointing at the screen, "Can you tell us where he was?"

"Sorry, bit of a gap," she apologised before suggested at seeing there disappointed look's, "I have all his receipts".

"Thank you," Amelia smiled, "That would be helpful…I'm sorry, I don't believe I heard your name?"

"Sorry, I'm Amanda," she smiled back before walking out of the office.

"I thought you didn't make friends easily?" Sherlock turned to Amelia, frowning slightly.

"I never said that," she shook her head, "It's not that I _can't_ make friends it's just that I don't have time for them. And, well, when I was younger I could be pretty open with my deduction; I was too young to really understand that what I might be saying could hurt someone's feelings," she gave Sherlock a pointed look, "Anyway, I did have friends but it's just that we have such different lives that…I guess, I didn't feel like I connected with them anymore".

Sherlock frowned but before he could ask more questions, Amanda walked back in, carrying handfuls of papers as she placed them on the desk for Amelia to look through.

"What kind of boss was he, Amanda?" Sherlock asked, noticing something on her desk, "Appreciative?"

"Um, no," Amanda almost laughed, shaking her head, "That's not the word I'd use," Sherlock kneeled beside Amelia and started going through the receipts with her, "The only things Eddie appreciated had a big price tag".

"You mean things like that hand cream?" Amelia nodded to a bottle of hand cream sitting on her desk, glancing up at her as she blinked in surprise, "He bought that for you, yes?"

Amanda nervously checked her jade green hair pin, staring at Amelia as Sherlock picked up one of the receipts, passing it to Amelia, "Look at this one," both women looked at the receipt, "Got a taxi from home on the day he died, 18 pounds 50".

Amanda took the receipt, frowning, "That would get him to the office".

"Not in rush hour," Sherlock shook his head, going back to searching, "Check the time, mid-morning. Eighteen would get him as far as…"

"The West End," Amanda said quickly, "I remember him saying".

Sherlock continued looking through the receipt before handing one to Amelia, "Underground, printed at 1 in Piccadilly".

Amanda frowned, looking confused, "So he got a tube to the office. Why would he get a taxi into town and then the tube back?"

"Because he was delivering something heavy," Sherlock answered, still searching, "You don't want to lug a package up the escalator".

"Delivering?" Amanda asked.

"Let me guess," Amelia said before Sherlock could, "To somewhere near Piccadilly Station?" Sherlock nodded, "Well, at least we don't have to walk all around London, now. So, he dropped the package off…"

Sherlock held up another receipt, cutting Amelia off, "He stopped on his way. He got peckish," and with that, he grabbed Amelia's arm and rushed out of the office, leaving Amanda to stare after them, compliantly confused.

….

Sherlock and Amelia got a taxi and pulled up outside Piazza Espresso Bar Italiano, Sherlock muttering to himself as they wondered through the crowds, every now and then Amelia would send Sherlock a slightly concerned look, wondering if he had compliantly lost it.

"So you bought your lunch here en route to the station," Sherlock was muttering, a couple of people stopped and gave him an odd look before walking away, "But where were you headed from? Where did the taxi drop you?" he started spinning around, not looking where he was going.

"Sherlock!" Amelia shouted, hurrying over to him just as he bumped into someone.

Sherlock turned around to see John standing there, holding an old notebook, "Eddie Van Coon brought a package here the day he died," he started telling John, "Whatever was hidden inside that case. I've…" Amelia cleared her throat, Sherlock sent her an annoyed look, "_We've_ managed to piece together a picture using scraps of information…"

"Sherlock…" John tried, scratching his forehead but he continued to talk.

"…credit card bills, receipts. He flew back from China, then he came here…"

"Sherlock," John said a little louder, Amelia shook her head.

"Somewhere in this street," Sherlock continued to ramble, looking around, "Somewhere near. I don't know where but…"

"Sherlock!" Amelia exclaimed, making both John and Sherlock blink at her, "Please shut up and listen to John, I think he's found something".

"Um, thanks," John said before shaking his head, pointing over to a small Chinese shop called the 'Lucky Cat' just across the road, "That shop over there".

Sherlock and Amelia looked over to it before glancing at John, "How can you tell?"

John held up the notebook in his hands, "Lukis's diary. He was here, too. He wrote down the address".

"Nice work, Dr Watson," Amelia smiled, linking her arm through his and Sherlock's who spuriously didn't pull away, "Shall we, Gentlemen?"

"Why do I feel like we're making our way to OZ?" John asked, glancing at Sherlock and Amelia with a faint smile.

"What?" Sherlock asked, looking blank.

"You've never watched The Wizard of Oz?" Amelia gasped, staring at him in disbelief, "That was my favourite movie when I was a kid".

"I thought we were in the middle of solving a murder?" Sherlock raised his eyebrows, "Or is this what you call…multitasking?"

"A bit of both, actually," she smiled, "Haven't you ever heard of taking five or so minutes just to let your brain evolute everything before continuing? You might find that it helps".

"Dull," Sherlock scoffed, pulling his arm out of hers and began making his way across the road.

"Don't you feel like hitting him sometimes, John?" Amelia asked, glancing at him.

"All the time," John replied, shaking his head, "Come on".

They quickly hurried after Sherlock and managed to catch up with him before he stepped inside the shop, looking around at all of the lucky cat's around the room, pretty designed fans stuck to parts of the wall beside the cash register were an elderly Chinese women was standing. Amelia almost gaged at the strong smell of incense burning behind the counter filled her air ways, it always reminded her of her Grant Aunt Sally who had the stuff burning almost every day. No wonder her house burnt down.

"You want lucky cat?" the old women asked John, holding up a little cat figurer, yet another thing this shop had in common with Aunt Sally.

John looked at her and smiled, shaking his head, "No. Thanks. No".

"Ten pound, ten pound," the women tried, John shook his head and smiled politely, "I think your wife, she will like".

"We're not married," John and Amelia said quickly, both blushing bright red, unknowing to them, Sherlock was watching.

"I mean…" Amelia glanced at John, "John, I think you're a great guy and…yeah, but I think were more of a friend/brother sister thing, maybe…"

"I agree," John nodded, "Brother/sister, sort of thing..."

"Anyway," Amelia said, turning away and pretending to look at bunch of wooden statues.

John walked over to a table were a set of tea cups were sitting and picked one up, turning it over before his eyes winded as he saw what was written on a tag on the bottom, "Sherlock, Amelia," he called, Sherlock and Amelia walked over to him, "The Label there…"

"Yes, I see it," Sherlock said, looking at the symbol written as Amelia nodded.

"Exactly the same as the cipher," Amelia agreed, talking in low voice in case someone overheard.

After that, they left the shop and began walking down the street, passed a little food market area while Sherlock explained, "It's an ancient number system…Hang Zhou. These days only street trader's us it".

"Oh," Amelia gasped, realising what he was saying, "Those were numbers written on the wall back at the bank and library".

Sherlock nodded, "Numbers written in an ancient Chinese dialect".

Sherlock walked over to a fruit stall and started checking the meaning with the numbers written in English.

John picked up one of the cards, "It's a 15. What we thought was the artist's tag; it's a number 15".

"And the blindfold, the horizontal line, that was a number as well," Sherlock held up another piece of paper with more symbols on it.

"It was the Chinese number 1," Amelia laughed at how simply it had been.

John smiled, "We've found it," he slowly lost the smile, though as he spotted a women wearing dark sunglasses taking a photo of him just ahead.

"Are you okay?" Amelia asked, looking at him in concern as she noticed his face.

"Yeah, just…" he trailed off and shrugged, "Just hungry. Can we get something to eat, Sherlock?"

Amelia checked the time on her phone, "That might be a good idea, it's passed 5 o'clock. It's a little early but I'm starving".

"Fine," Sherlock sighed, turning and leading them over to a restaurant just across from the Luck Cat, watching while they waited for their food to arrive, of course, Sherlock had refused to order anything.

"Two men travel back from China," John said, fiddling with a pen in his hand as he thought of what to write on the pad in front of him, "Both head straight for the Lucky Cat Emporium. What did they see?"

"It's not what they saw," Sherlock shook his head, "It's what they both brought back in those suitcases".

"So, I was right," Amelia smiled, thinking back to her smuggling theory.

"You don't think it was duty free?" John asked, looking in-between Sherlock and Amelia as a waitress walked over and placed to plates on the table, "Thank you," both he and Amelia smiled at the waitress as they began to eat.

Sherlock leaned forward, saying quietly, "Think about what Sebastian told us about Van Coon, about how he stayed afloat in the market".

John paused, "Lost five million…"

"Made it back in a week," Amelia finished, "That's how he made such easy money. He was a smuggler and I do believe that I've earned a 'you were right from, Sherlock Holmes'".

"I never doubted you," Sherlock replied.

"You also didn't agree," Amelia added.

"Therefore, I don't have to say you were right," Sherlock smirked.

Amelia grinned, "See, was that really so hard?"

John cracked up laughing at the look on Sherlock's face, "You did…"

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Sherlock snapped, glaring at Amelia who meet his eyes, unflinching, smiling, "As I was saying, a guy like him would have been perfect. A businessman making frequent trips to Asia. Lukis was the same, a journalist writing about China. Both of them smuggling stuff out. The Lucky Cat was their drop off".

John frowned, shaking his head, "Why did they die? It doesn't make sense. If they both turned up at the shop and delivered the goods, why would someone threaten them and kill after the event, after they had finished the job?"

"Maybe someone stole something," Amelia said slowly, thinking carefully, "And the killer isn't sure which one of them took it".

John nodded, following along, "So he threatens them both, right?"

Sherlock frowned slightly as he stared outside the window, "Remind me, when was the last time it rained?"

"A few days ago," Amelia shrugged, taking a bite of her food when Sherlock suddenly stood and started making his way outside. She glanced at John who sighed and quickly followed after Sherlock, closing the restaurant door behind them.

_**I'm so sorry for the long wait but I've been working on my Doctor Who story and haven't had time to this but don't worry, I'm not going to give up on it. I still have lots of planes and there's still so much about Amelia that is yet unknown. I've put up a link on my profile for Amelia's outfit halfway through this chapter. I hope you liked it, tell me what you thought, please review :)**_


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